Surrogate Jewels
by AfterEver
Summary: The fate of the Sons of Earendil. Begins at the third Kinslaying at Sirion. Alternating perspectives from Maglor and Maedhros- also features the Peredhil (not yet named Elrond and Elros).
1. Chapter One

  


Disclaimer:  
All characters and/or places are Copyright of the Enterprise and/or Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No infringement on existing Copyright in intended, and no profit is being made from this publication.

Rating:  
**PG-13**

Story Notes:  
It is assumed throughout this tale that the sons of Earendil are in fact twins. If the reader wishes, debate this issue with HoME; but please not the author- she is weary of such disputes.

Chapter Keys {important!}:  
Chapters titled 'Surrogate Jewels' and preceded by a number are standard third person narratives. However, chapters subtitled by the name Maedhros or Maglor are written form their respective PoV. 

Summary:  
The end of the First Age draws near. The harbor town of Sirion is in peril of war, threatened by the remaining sons of Feanor, who demand that Elwing daughter of Dior relinquish the Silmaril in her keeping. Five years previously, Elwing bared twin children, the sons of the bright Mariner, Earendil. This is the story of their fate. 

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter One**

  
  
  


The lady stood still and calm, poised as a beacon of nobility to those around her, palpable encouragement for those who looked upon her. A matte bone-white was her gown, hanging lightly from her body, tugged gently by the wind. Behind her was a structure, white pillars lined across a wooden porch; her home, set near the edge of a sheer cliff, backed by the Sea, overlooking Sirion. Before her was battle; a bloody and horrible sort- the second of its kind she had witnessed in her relatively short lifetime. Elf slaying elf; the stuff of nightmares, the pinnacle of absurdity. She looked on, as cleave by cleave her world was changed before her eyes, and the swaying tide of fortune faltered- in the enemies' favor. The Silmaril suddenly weighed heavily against her breast, and despair clawed at every fear in her heart, panicking her mind, sealing her fate. 

That was the last Maglor saw of Elwing, before losing himself in the abandon of battle, the crazed fervor that one would be slain without adopting. It was a dark passion indeed, and one wholly necessary to embrace, in the name of victory and survival. Maglor assumed his role flawlessly, saving any remorse or pity he might feel until a time more appropriate. During the carnage, amid the brutality and madness, the second son of Feanor earned his name well; that of Kinslayer. 

But that was some time ago, and things had calmed to a degree. Maglor took the opportunity to seek for that which should never have needed recovering. That which belonged to him rightfully, that which he resolved would rest in his hand before the night crept into day. 

Inside Elwing's home, Maglor tore through room after room, searching for the blessed Light, the coveted Jewel, or any hope at all. All would be for naught, unless the Silmaril could be found. And so he searched, frantically, desperately. His orderlies he sent about, to check here and there, to quicken the progress and put an end to the suffering ere none were left to be saved. 

It was then that he heard the sound. A wave of deploring anguish and rage swelled from outside, sweet Elven voices raised in sorrow and wrath. It was a terrible noise, and Maglor rushed to the nearest window to behold its source. There looking sideways he witnessed Elwing cast herself to the Sea, the Silmaril shining in her unbreakable grasp as she disappeared. Her people's lamentation grew in volume and force, as their fears were confirmed, their pleads ignored, and all hope lost. A screech of frustration and failure escaped Maglor's own lips, and he rested a moment with his head against the pane of cool glass, before his gloved fist broke clear through it. 

He noticed two young voices wailing outside, somehow sounding apart from the rest, as if they had special cause to grieve, and he knew without seeing that it was Elwing's sons he heard. From wherever they were, they saw their mother plummet. A tear he spared for them as well, and while shedding it, did not see a white bird ascend from the Seafoam and fade from view beyond the horizon. 

Another moment he took to mourn, and wished for a whole year to do the same. Suddenly a new pain struck his heart, and he turned misty vision to the distance, where his youngest brothers were besieged and slaughtered before his eyes. It happened far enough away, but he could see as clearly as he needed. Local folk, townsfolk -not even surviving warriors from Doriath or Gondolin- overpowered Amrod and Amras, mighty and skilled, and left them in slain heaps on the dirt. As if that was simply all right, as if such were ever acceptable. Well, it never could be, not for any reason. Maglor knew that well enough, for he lived under the Curse and its unbearable weight- as much as one could live, doomed to the Everlasting Darkness. 

"An eye for an eye until we all are blind!" he roared. It was too much. Maglor felt something inside of him snap, cleaner than bone, and something else slip away, to a place fainter than forgotten memory, darker than hate. A great long table sat behind him, and he spun from the window, flipping the wooden mass with a single, mindless heave. In a fury he rushed from the room, and would not stop until he reached the entry chamber. 

  
  


It was by sheer luck alone that the children reached their house without being caught in deadly crossfire, or being borne away to salvation by friend, or death by foe. 

They were forced to climb over slain Elves to reach their home's porch, and a discarded log to pass the threshold, the front door itself shattered in splintered fragments all around. So harried were the children to get inside and hide that they did not realize until it was far too late that Maglor himself was standing in the foyer. With a gasp of terror, the children turned to flee from whence they came, but that way too was blocked by another elf walking forward, concealed by shadow and distance, but well-built and deadly in gait he was. 

With no more preferable options, the Peredhil darted to one side, dashing into the reading lounge, and through it to the dining room, headed for the pantry within. It housed another door to the cellar, and therein was a hidden hatchway, which opened to a crawl space, leading to a safe-room. But the dining room table had been overturned, and its impossible bulk was leaning against the pantry room door. The children need make no effort to know that they could not move that table for another twenty years worth of growing. Furthermore, they heard footsteps behind, distracting them from forming any solution to their dilemma. They turned in time to see Maglor come forth, raising a bloodstained sword with purpose, and the children knew that there was no hope left. They would die momentarily, if they were fortunate. 

"Peredhil," the Kinslayer's musical voice intoned unsteadily, comprehending, contemplating. He nearly growled then, seeing them huddle and shrink in fear and disgust. For an instant he thought his brothers had died for them, that the Silmaril was lost because of them, that all his pain would subside if not for them. He lifted his sword, the deadly weight hampering and familiar to his muscles, reminding him that there was only one purpose for a war-blade... But sense returned, and he saw not fault or blame through the red haze of his madness, but the sight for what it was. Two little children who had lost their mother and father to the Sea. Children whose home was ruined, and townspeople slain. Orphans whose lives changed forever the moment Maglor saw them... and knew that he must have them.

The floor bore the considerable weight of a sword dropped thoughtlessly upon it. One child screamed, never one to go quietly, while the other sobbed anew at the injustice of being denied a swift, clean death by the Elven steel. The Peredhil backed against the uprooted table and waited for their cruel fate, even whilst a crueler one was delivered, in the form of a voice like the wind, and just as twisted by the elements it surrenders to. 

"Worry not, Peredhil; there, there, worry you not. I shall care for you, I promise. All is well, come now. Come over and meet me. My name is Maglor, children... what are your names?" 

  


***continued***

  



	2. Chapter Two

  


Author's Note {important!}:   
'Surrogate Jewels' is indeed a combined revision of the stories previously titled 'The Sack of Sirion' and 'My Brother's Others'. Several things were altered and/or added during the overhaul of the latter fics- and the finished product was 'Surrogate Jewels'. I apologize for neglecting to make a note of this beforehand; it certainly was not my intention to deceive anyone. Honestly, I simply didn't think of mentioning this fact until I realized it might seem like a premeditated dupe: which it was and is not.   
---AfterEver

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Two**  
_Maedhros_

  
  
  


I see them, ahead. Little silhouettes in the murky gloom of night and war, outlined by the vicious light of stray fire, blurred by the coal-black smoke of ruin. They run like rabbits avoiding danger; darting from cover to cover and pausing behind every shelter before dashing out again. Quite effective, in fact, and I make note that Earendil raised no fools, for all that he may be one himself. 

I follow them into the building, what used to be Elwing's home, if Elwing remained- but now, I suppose it is theirs; Earendil's sons, Sirion's little Lords. I follow. My steps feel heavy, every move of my body tiresome to my mind. I want to rest, with the three Silmarils and my six brothers. Thus I want what I cannot have, and how it angers me. From that anger I fend off my tears, for I now have but one brother left, and no Silmaril to present him with, and Maglor has plenty tears of his own. 

The doorway is in pieces, a discarded battering ram crossing the threshold, slain elves scattered about the porch. I do not care to discover their identities. I hear a defiant scream further inside, and something heavy falls to a wooden floor, the resultant clang echoing in my ears. I follow the sounds into the dining room, where the glint of a blade catches my eye foremost. But it is lying unused upon the ground; not hoisted as at first I thought, but abandoned. The Peredhil are alive within the room, along with my brother. 

Entering, I see Maglor stooped on his knees, and the children before him. Twin males, black hair, alike faces, young bodies... I should not look closer than that, but I do. Trembling with fear I wish I could extinguish, covered in soot from the inferno we did not mean to cause, crying tears I wish I could prevent, their eyes alight with that which my heart desires most.

Maglor turns slightly and spares me one glance, from which I deduce so very much, then returns to his business. He is smitten, and already he denies it even as he silently warns me against interfering. 

_You think I did not notice, brother? Think you that the Light in these Peredhil's eyes was lost on me? Nay, oh, nay indeed. Not the Light of the Two Trees, as only now preserved in father-Feanor's Silmarils... and in the memories of those who have seen It._

It becomes them, the glorious Light to these harmless babes, and that infuriates me beyond rationality. Spite! I suppose they shall not covet the precious Jewel, either. I suppose to them the Silmaril was simply that which held more of their mother's faith than her own two sons combined. An object of their scorn, if a thing of any regard at all. Aye, so they reflect the Light in their eyes, but have naught lechery in their hearts. They saw the ember, but caught not aflame. 

In their eyes, the likeness of a storm over Sea, is purity foremost, but within that is a _glow_ like lightning behind cloud...  
_And yes, Maglor -Iluvatar help me- but I do crave it too. Would that those eyes look upon me in kindness, and mirror my admiration, return my affinity. But they will never, and I know this! Why cannot you see? Amrod and Amras we lost to Mandos and his cursed Halls this day, and still claimed we not Elwing's Silmaril, now taken from us again thanks to Ulmo and his cruel favor. And there you are, coddling two wailing beasts. I could help you, brother. I could help you comfort them, and bring them under some sort of control. And then I could always Help you, and toss both those half-breeds out of the belltower with one heave._

Approaching his side, I see tears gather in my brother's eyes. Tears of frustration, and loss, and despair, tears he has not the strength or will to restrain. Now this I cannot abide! Ah, Maglor, my dear little brother. He was never meant for this, nor it for him. So glad would he have been to simply sing happy songs for the rest of the world's days, and so glad would all have been to listen. But instead he is here, _we_ are here. Amid the rubble of Sirion and the dead of our kin; Elvenkind... alas, even our very own _brothers_ lie slain outside. 

_I would spare you from this, Maglor, if I could. Though my own heart has no desire for bloodshed, I am already marred irreparably by the torment and torture of war. There is no turning back for me. But you... For you I would gladly suffer even longer to but keep you from one more day of anguish, one more moment of regret, one more second of grief._

Poor Maglor... I wish I could ease his pain, even now. Even as I watch him in this futile act of benevolence, this hollow gesture of armistice. Senseless is it, because it will be unheeded. Meaningless is it, because it falls upon deaf ears. He wishes to win those children, to tame them, perhaps. Impossible! I cannot help him in that. But nor will I leave him here trying.

"Maglor," I announce, coming closer now beside him. From his crouched position on the floor, he twists his shoulders to look up at me again. There are tears flowing freely down his grimy face, and for my part I cannot help but think of Amrod and Amras when I behold the matching twin sons of Earendil, but keep my emotions better in check. 

"They are Elwing's children," he explains a bit frantically. I suppose it is possible that I might not have guessed as much, but Maglor's statement only leads me to believe he is not thinking clearly. And he goes on, stammering, "I almost- I meant to..."

He cries harder, and I see he has lost control for a moment. Elwing's children are crying openly as well. Terrified, clutching at one another, crammed against an overturned table and no doubt fearing for their lives, or worse. I put my hand on my brother's shoulder and squeeze reassuringly. _I_ know he would never have harmed the children, but it is the fact that he believes he _could_ have which has driven him past the brink. His nerves are but in shambles after this terrible day, as are mine, as is to be expected.

"We must go, Maglor." I know he already is aware of as much, but I do not trust his judgement of time or priorities just now.

"They saw!" he gasps for the breath to continue, "They saw Elwing--" He turns towards the children and again tries to coax them over. "Come, children... come _here_. _Please_ come here, I will not hurt you, I _promise_. _Come_!"

I harden my grasp on his shoulder to get his attention. The children are only more frightened now, and Maglor is doing himself no good either. He will render himself deranged in short time at this rate, and probably the twins as well. 

"_Why will they not come_?!" Maglor blurts at me. I can see in his face that he truly does not know, and only more deeply do I feel for him. He is nearly insane with distress already.

I explain, gently as I can, "'Tis because you are a mere stranger to them who are but children, Maglor... and because you are acting like a mad fool at that." I do not mention that his armor is also covered in the gore of battle, though I have no doubt the children noticed at once. 

He stops his sniveling all the same, and thinks. 

Then he actually laughs. I do too, more I think out of my own nearly overwhelming sorrow than mirth. I fall to my knees and draw Maglor into my arms. It is the only way I know of to try and pull him _together_ somehow. And ai! It feels so good to hold a brother against my breast who yet lives. 

It does not take him long to calm down, and regain some composure. I heft us to our feet and hand Maglor his discarded sword, which I retrieved when I entered. He sheaths the blade reactively and I force him to take a few drinks from my 'reserve' canteen. It is in fact filled with a very potent wine, and it has served me well on this day, just as it has on several other occasions in the past. Maglor does not even seem to notice what it is that he swallows, but I see with the rise and fall of his chest-plate that his breathing is made regular again. 

Suddenly it occurs to me that save for the lingering sounds of conflict from outside, the room has gone quiet. Maglor notices it too, and our eyes turn towards the Peredhil. They look still ready to scale the wall, if they could, but are no longer sobbing. Just trembling, and sniffling. 

"We must go," I say again, lost in my thoughts, and in the storm that ever brews within the Peredhil's eyes... the lightning, the Light... 

Maglor has regained all of the poise he was born with, and all of the stubbornness he assimilated from me. "We must take them with us," he states resolutely. 

The Peredhil hear his plan, and quake all the more violently.

I look into Maglor's eyes and see the want there, the loneliness and the longing. And if I could cleave it clean out of him, my dear brother, I would. To spare him more heartache and failure, I would. For these children will never look upon him in the way that I too wish they would look upon me. But he cannot see. I can see. 

I examine and ponder Maglor, his foolish hope, his immature fancy, and I look again at the Peredhil. Ah, not only mere children, but also Earendil's sons. Hmm. 

_Ai, Earendil, you fool! If you had just been home with your family, none of this might have happened! For you might have had the sense to convince that wife of yours to surrender to us our father's Silmaril. If you had been here to lead your kin, I might not have had to cut them out of my way. If you had been here with Elwing, she might not have sacrificed herself for my jewel. If you had been here with your sons... Ah, your sons. Hmm. _

I realize what it is that stilled them somewhat. 'Twas when Maglor and I embraced that they fell quiet. Whether in confusion or amazement I know not, but that is what settled them. Monsters do not hug each other, and monsters do not laugh or cry or share a flask... I wager the Peredhil are wondering why Maglor and I did all of the above, for surely we must appear to them in all other aspects as monsters and nothing else. 

My brother has been staring defiantly upon me. He need not have bothered. He thinks I do not see. He thinks I see not the Light, but I do. I think he sees not the invaluable worth of Earendil's sons to us, and truly he must not. He would take them indeed, but to _care_ for them, maybe even rear them personally. And I would allow him, but for none of the same reasons. 

He sees the Light, and feels long-lost hope rekindled, and is burned by a familiar desire.   
I see the Light, and estimate immense value, and rightly covet such unequivocal protection. 

I believe Earendil would have bid Elwing surrender the Silmaril, if for nothing else than their sons' safety. Well, I mean to extend an offer indefinitely towards our friend the Mariner. He shall have the option to trade his matching pair of sons in exchange for my father's Silmaril for as long as I live.

"Very well, Maglor... very well," I soothe. "As you wish." 

I step forward, my left hand on the hilt of my sword. The Peredhil stiffen and cease breathing. So does Maglor behind me. "Hail, Peredhil. I am Maedhros, first son of Feanor," I declare. "You have already met my brother, Maglor, Feanor's second son."

They look briefly to him, then back at me- or rather, back to my blade and the blood on my hand. "Maglor has taken pity on you," I say, "thus ye shall be spared from his wrath." 

They seem to breathe again, and Maglor comes to stand firm beside me. "Now come you forward, children, and have no fear," he says with most of the determination returned to his voice. 

The children do not move, save that one has begun suckling his thumb. I no longer reserve much patience for this sort of thing, and these babes must learn to obey, as my brother and I have not the time for anything other than unquestioning compliance. 

I seize one of the children, the one who seems the more pacified of the two -what with his thumb in his mouth- and Maglor takes the other. Immediately they both begin to squeal and struggle. By Iluvatar, I possess _no_ tolerance for _this_. 

"Silence!" I say, and simply shake the child in my arm so he knows to whom I speak. "Hear ye, sons of Earendil! You both are hereby apprehended as Prisoners of War to the last living Sons of Feanor." Maglor appears nearly as shocked as the twins, but I must continue with or without his support, "And know now that though my brother has spared you his wrath out of pity, _I_ have done no such thing." Maglor looks ready to duel me, but I hold his outrage at bay with a glare. "So dare you never to cross me, Peredhil, for this is the only warning you shall ever receive," I finish, and the children resign their fight to pitiful whimpers and involuntary shuddering. 

I give Maglor an evaluating glance. He looks... far from pleased with me. Well, he will forgive me eventually. After all, these stranger children could not possibly hold a higher place in his heart than his last living brother.

Maglor turns away, his glower never leaving me beforehand, and we depart in silence. 

  


***continued***

  



	3. Chapter Three

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Three**  
_Maglor_

  
  
  


The shadow of this night is thickened by smoke; clouding vision, stinging eyes. The smell of burning Elven-flesh is heavy on the air; confusing senses, sickening hearts. This was the worst, I believe. The worst of all three Kinslayings. I wish it could be the last, but the Silmaril has again flown... will the Oath not compel us to pursue it, no matter where it goes? Who of even the wise can tell. I see nothing of the future, nothing of the strength in my heart; I see no further or deeper than the buildings consumed with dancing flames before my eyes. 

The fires are beautiful, in a way. 

The fires are also idiotically accidental to an infuriating degree, yes, but still radiant, for all that danger and beauty may agree to disagree in this dazzling show of devastation. I cannot deny the irony, but I derive no mirth from it. We Kinslayers are even unable to do a knowingly immoral thing correctly. We cannot even act rightly in our wrong deeds. Truly we are cursed. All that we touch, all that we attempt, ends in this: death and ash, shadow and flame. 

I am still angry about the fires, I suppose. It was no one's fault, and perhaps that should console me, but it does not. None knew such a harsh wind was to come -and this Seaside weather changes in the blink of a blasted eye! None knew the fires we purposefully set to Elwing's home and the convention hall would spread so ruthlessly. None knew my foolish esquire would put flame to the communal barn, successfully scaring the horses into flight and thus discouraging retreat, but incidentally killing himself in the process, overwhelmed by the blaze born from his own hand. Just as he did not know the inferno he caused would not yield until it reached the library house and beyond. 

And who would have known that the fires would be so terrible, so mesmerizing? So beautiful... 

I feel guilty for allowing myself to think such a thing, to _accept_ it. But as I ride through the city once called Sirion, I dismiss the guilt as unreasonable. For my path gives me clear view to so many other deeds for which to rightfully feel guilt. Deeds delivered directly by my hands, at my order, on my word. My steed carefully treads athwart the dead and dying scattered about the ground, and I lean over to check its step, dull eyes staring lifelessly back at me from below, in tangled heaps of corpses not yet disposed of... Aye, they make for better reasons to feel guilt than the finding of beauty in the fires of destruction, I deem. And in my arms, indeed under my very nose, is yet another reason. 

Said reason gives a small stir, as if on cue to my very thoughts. I shift the bundle around in my grasp, thinking to ease some unseen discomfort by altering its position. And not for the first time in this last day, I find myself on the receiving end of a terrified stare. I could weep for the fear in those eyes, opened wide and shining brightly under the starlight. 

I wish he would not look at me so, and I smile down at him in a vain attempt to change his expression to something other than dread. I am not as fair as my brother, but I have faith the peaceable gesture might achieve desired ends. His tiny body begins to tremble against me, and that is not his only response to my 'comfort', as tears also gather in his eyes, the color of a storm against blue sky. I put my smile away, much feeling like sharing his tears instead of preventing them. 

Hastily I do my best to ignore him, realizing with the sting in my sinus that I am closer to grief than I had calculated. If I allow myself to weep now I know I may never stop, so I distract my mind by wondering what name will be given to this day. What title to sum up the horrors we have visited upon this land and its people. I wonder what _I_ would call it. Besides a massacre, besides unforgivable... A great composer of songs I am, a renowned poet and bard; I should be able to do this thing, I should be able to give a name to this... this...

We ride on. I in contemplative silence, my small companion in muffled sobs and pained whimpers. 

I have done this to him, I remind myself. Certainly, wrongdoings of others have driven me to these desperate means, but here and now, it is I who has brought such anguish upon this child. His suffering is wrought by my hands, as it was my choice to deliver unto him this fate, _my_ fate. He is not at fault for the bereavements of my own past, but now he shall share with me the consequences of my cursed Oath, for the rest of his life.

I am hardly better than Morgoth himself, in this. I have learned no lesson from my own pain, and I relate my tribulation by example. Those twisted tendencies dominate my 'righteous' purpose indeed, yet at least I remember enough of myself to know it is a vile and shameful doom taken upon me. It is to a low level I have stooped, and such is no secret to my mind or heart. I sicken myself, and admittedly at that. 

The child's eyes are upon me still, wondrous, afraid... so bright. I can imagine those eyes glimmering in hatred, fueled by power and strength not yet contained in one so young. My fault, it would be, in that case. I wish not to be responsible for such a bitter outcome, when I am responsible for so much already. 

"Learn to forgive, little one," I say without thinking. He is so... pure. Today is the only interim of evil that has touched him, and I want to make it better, somehow _less_, even in a small way. I want to show him that even fire can be beautiful. I hug him closer to my chest, or rather to my armor, being as gentle with his delicate frame as I can. His head is rigid against my shoulder; he does not lean into me at all, there is no surrender in his tense muscles, no give, _none_. 

I must deny the offense striving to develop within me. What should I expect from him, at this time; a friendly conversation, a pat on the back? Forgiveness? Nevertheless how I crave those things, I know better than to obligate them from a timid babe. So he will not excuse me now, but he might eventually. If I can wait that long. 

I say softly, "Do not be as I was, child, as I still am. If you learn nothing else in your entire life, may it be how to forgive. Valar grant you all the understanding and mercy cleaved from us forsaken Exiles, and the wisdom to use it well." 

He cries out openly and I start, thinking him somehow in physical pain. In my brother's arms beside me, the clear ring of a second babe's wailing hurts my sensitive ears. Now both children cry as one, my bundle remaining as usual the quieter of the two, and I thank the Valar for small favors. 

I can barely discern my elder brother's groan through the din of the two grieving young sons carried between us. Scornfully, Maedhros murmurs something I wish not hear about the 'matching set', as he seems intent on calling the twins we hold. But I ignore his complaining, as it is what comes most naturally to me, and dedicate my attention to maintaining whatever might yet remain of my hearing. 

"Hush, little one," I sooth, patting his back. "There, there now... all will be well." Or so I imagine myself to be soothing, though my charge seems not the better for my efforts. Without consideration I press a kiss to the top of his head, his hair silky and soft to my lips. I realize at once it was a mistake to touch him so, and I vow from now on to think ahead before I act upon this child. 

The babe reacts to my affection by doing his best to jump out of my arms and hence off of our mount. Surprised by the speed of his actions, I barely catch him around the waist in time to stay his descent to the rocky ground several feet below. He flings both arms out of the blanket still wrapping him, reaching with all of his might for the night sky. What began as a shrill and wordless squeal forms the word 'mother', and instantly I understand. 

He is not futilely reaching for the stars; they are simply the closest things that hold the most likeness to his mother, or rather, to her Silmaril - to MY Silmaril. And by attempting to dislodge himself from me, he only meant to fly away after Elwing. 

Whether or no he understands that such is an impossible feat, I know not. He would have fallen like a stone to the dirt had I not stopped him, but such is probably beyond the knowledge of one so young, and I wager I shall never have his thanks for sparing him the harsh landing. 

He continues to struggle against me without reserve. I only want to keep him safe, to care for him and provide all of that which I have taken away; and he only wants to be gone from me. I eventually become angry at his behavior, but force the impulse to subside. What right have I to judge this child? His actions are not so unreasonable; in fact, his instincts are fairly accurate. He senses danger in me. And though I mean not to harm him, he knows that I _could_ harm him... perhaps he even knows that I almost did. 

It requires me to use more strength than I would prefer to bring the child back under my control. Once I have him close again, I wrap the blanket tighter around him and tuck his now quaking form snugly into the nook of my arm. I believe my brusque manner frightened the child anew, for he fell quiet with haste whilst I rearranged him, and now again stares at me in horror. 

I tell myself that it cannot be helped, that this poor child will fear me no matter what. The thought brings me no comfort, but as it seems to be the fact of the matter, I can at least find contentment with some sort of closure. He does fear me, and thus is as it will be, possibly forever. 

I suddenly feel like weeping anew. 

Remembering that a moment ago in my peripheral vision I spied the other child making an equal attempt to escape Maedhros' hold, I look to my side upon noticing now that my brother's burden has also stilled. I raise my eyes at Maedhros in silent query. He says nothing in reply, but the wry grin on his mouth tells me all I need to know. The time will soon come when I shall teach my sibling, by force if necessary, that he is never, under any circumstances, to silence these children with threats of punishment or harm. I have witnessed him do so once already since our... acquiring of them, and feel certain that he has just done so again. 

For now, I look down with a weary sigh, surveying my own young riding partner. Though apparently resting at last, I see he is not relaxed. I doubt he will ever relax in my arms, perhaps not even in my presence. I accept this, both because I must and because it hurts. Such is no more or less than I deserve. 

True to my new vow, I contemplate first, and then I begin to sing. Whether deciding that there was no harm in a mere song, or that things could not possibly be made any worse, it matters not. I need to do something that does not remind me of the blood on my hands, or the stains I have unwittingly imprinted on the child I bear. The song I choose is simple, and I sing it softly, respectfully. 

My little Peredhil tries very hard not to listen. I believe he succeeds in the end, for eventually he ceases crying again, all on his own; his brother following his every example. After a long, heart-wrenching while, they both fall asleep. I know I will find no sleep, nor peace or rest, for very long. Not after this day... this unnamable day. 

  


***continued***

  



	4. Chapter Four

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Four**  
  
  
  


The night was calm, stirred only by an occasional breeze from the west. Elven singing was heard in the distance, an ethereal undertone to the earthy wind. The brisk air smelled clean, bringing the gentle and refreshing scent of pine from forests not far beyond, and the stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky above.   
Truly, more than anything, Maedhros wished to enjoy these simple pleasures of life, the welcome repose, and ignore all else- the memories of the slain, the heartache of failure. But that was made impossible, for the same reason as for several nights before. He stared at his plate and the meat upon it, his appetite gradually subsiding, and his annoyance heightening with every sniffle. 

"Children," the words fell like frozen rain, "enough of this. You test my patience." There was no doubting the seriousness of the speaker, or his irritation. But the two addressed had known nothing but fear for several days, thus a mite more, thanks to Maedhros' tone, was hardly noticed. Maedhros leaned forward over his crossed legs, and peered at the Peredhil in what he hoped was a discouraging fashion.   
"Why do you cry?" Each word was enunciated carefully, to assure that no misunderstanding was had.

The children were only crying a little, and as such did not appreciate the negative attention received. After all, it had taken days to steel themselves to the point they had reached. Before, it was all they could do to cower in a tent-corner, or under a horse, without fleeing in madness. Kinslayers, everywhere there were Kinslayers. But presently, they were sitting by a small cooking fire, desperately trying to eat and keep the meat down- for it was cooked rare and looked to them like the flayed flesh of the Librarian they had seen slain at Sirion. 

Maedhros seemed to accept that no answer would be forthcoming, and he returned to his space grudgingly, shifting his disapproving glare to his own meal once again. 

Gentle as falling snow in the distance, another said softly, "Do not pressure them, Maedhros." There was unmistakable strength behind the words, but it was suppressed and adjusted, until released at a leisurely pace, in a controlled tone. This was Maglor, the mightiest singer since Daeron of Doriath, and his voice seldom chimed unshaped. 

Turning annoyed eyes to his brother, Maedhros replied, "For ears trained sharply as yours, brother, I would assume their constant sniveling to be unbearable." 

"It is indeed," Maglor replied somberly, coming closer to the fire, and the children. "But unbearable for my heart, and not my ears or anything else could suffer more." 

The Peredhil became more than mildly uncomfortable, both for Maglor's closeness and his dejected manner, and they abandoned the hopeless struggle to consume the gamy contents of their plates. Wary glances were given to both sons of Feanor, and in their worry more tears found the children's eyes. Maedhros as always seemed stern and displeased, and if the children could bear to look longer upon him they would see the stress and pain there also. And Maglor was, as usual, a bit too attentive for the children's liking. If they knew better, they would detect that a fair amount of unease already laid between the two brothers; but as it was, all they felt was the tension, and assumed it to be directed at them. 

Maglor had brought a kettle of prepared liquid, and set it over the fire to heat. He smiled at the children in greeting, and once through with his chore, settled on his knees beside them. Too close, too soon, and the children ached to separate themselves from this deadly Elf-lord's overbearing presence. 

"That is a treat for you, to help you sleep." Maglor gestured to the pot. "You may have some, but only once it is warm- that is how the magic works!" 

He spoke smiling, but the effect was lost on the children, who were suddenly nauseated by the firelight upon Maglor's face, and the scent of smoking meat creeping from across camp. They were reminded of the first time they had seen Maglor, with the smell of burning Elf-flesh heavy in the air, and spilt blood, and hot sweat, and spent fear. More tears gathered at the memories, and the children curled a little in on each other for comfort, seeking to escape Maglor's adoring gaze, and the sadness creasing his face that they had no will to mend. 

Maglor looked away, only more sickened at heart by the children's continued state of distrust and apprehension. Across the bonfire, Maedhros wore an expression that suggested he was knowingly correct about something, but Maglor did not envy his pride. He did not care to be right; he only wanted to _do_ right. 

After a moment of private brooding, he came back to himself, and remembered his task. "Here," he said, leaning in to reach the kettle, "let me pour you some of this drink, Peredhil." His tone had not the same enthusiasm, but he forced it to sound close with fair success. 

"I want none," a timid voice ventured. 

"But you have yet to taste it!" Maglor laughed, his spirits soaring for the mere fact that one had spoken out. 

"I want none too," said the other. 

Maedhros turned sideways, and made a point to ignore the exchange, having no desire to see his brother come to grief over so small a thing, as he felt certain would happen in the end.

Carefully hardening his tone only a shade, Maglor replied, "But I want you both to have a good night's rest." He poured a small amount into a cup, and handed it to the first child who spoke. "Just a sip, try it." 

The child's mother had taught him to be polite, and his father had taught him to be thankful. But in that instant, nothing was more vivid in his mind than the image of his parents, as dead as he feared them to be, and marred Sirion, littered with corpses.   
"I don't want it," the child repeated, and gained bravery from somewhere unseen. "And I don't want this." With that he pushed the plate away, bloody juices sloshing atop the red meat.

Maedhros could not help but raise his eyes at this unexpected response, and turn back to watch after all. He was as interested to know what the child would do next as he was to see how his brother would react. 

Maglor examined the child for a moment before speaking. "These things I give to you out of the kindness of my heart," he stated smoothly. 

"I don't want your pity, either," the child's voice pitched with his distress. 

At least outwardly, Maglor remained calm. "But should you not thank me for my generosity, whether you appreciate it or not?"

"No!"   
At that exclamation the second child made a tent with his hands, and covered the lower half of his face, concealing the tremble of his mouth, but not the dread in his watering eyes. 

"I see," Maglor replied. "Tell me then for what you desire, so that I may gain your esteem, and make these last leagues to travel less unpleasant for us all." 

The child hopped to his feet in a sudden outburst, but preparing to run or attack, even he did not know. "Nothing from you, nothing you have! I want my mother!" 

Maglor stood in an instant, sweeping the agitated child from the ground before he could do anything more impulsive or actually harmful. "Then you are at a loss," he remained composed in words and manner, even as the child fussed against his grasp, refusing to meet his eyes.   
"Many people want things denied them, but few throw fits." He grinned slightly. "Though I could be counted with you among those who do." His face straightened again, serious and sad. "But alas, for your mother is gone, and you cannot have her back. I... I'm sorry." 

"Then you cannot have me!" the child sobbed, but ceased his fight at last, knowing himself overpowered, and suddenly feeling the deep fatigue from a week of insomnia, anxiety, and tragedy. "You cannot have me..." 

"But I do have you," Maglor answered, lowering himself to his former position by the fire, the Peredhel thus cradled in his lap. "And I am glad for it." 

The child moaned in misery, knowing Maglor to be truthful, and despising him for it. He knew well enough that no stranger should be so happy for the company of another's child, especially under these circumstances. The child did not know what exactly, or how or why, but he sensed something was dreadfully wrong, and it made him shiver.   
"It's not fair..." he writhed once with his last strength, "that's not fair." 

"I know," Maglor answered, taking up the cup, and bringing it to the child's lips, who swallowed reactively when the fluid entered his mouth. 

Peering up with unwavering anger and fear, the child spoke in what was closer to a plead than anything he had uttered before, "Let us go." He was forced to drink again, then added, "Please."

Maglor bent forward and kissed his brow, not noticing the child's feeble attempts to push him away, and forgetting his own vow. "Sleep," was all he said, coaxing another mouthful of the tonic into the child, and began a song, rocking gently to the melody. 

The child still on the ground stared at the scene in shock, much as he had gaped at everything as it transpired since his twin had become upset. Presently his brother's eyes were vacant, his body seemingly paralyzed in defeat; he had retreated to someplace between unconsciousness and sleep, where he would not hear the soothing music or feel the arms of a Kinslayer retaining him.  
Left behind, and much too anxious to doze, the child yet awake eyed his twin, held fondly by Maglor, and then Maedhros sitting across the fire, looking particularly peeved. The child imagined himself forced into such strong and dangerous arms, but never again welcomed into his mother's soft embrace, and he wept. Eventually there on the dirt he succumbed to his exhaustion and slept, barely and fitfully, dreaming of thralldom and spreading fire. 

  


"What are you doing?" the question was sharp and bitter. 

Looking up, Maglor did not conceal his frown. "What does it seem?"

Maedhros frowned as well, and turned away again, watching the orderly bustle of camp with feigned interest. "You delude yourself, brother. But disregard it if you will." 

Maglor did just that, and his gaze returned admiringly to the babe he held. He thought on the child's outer beauty and inner strength, of what life would be like if he could earn his love, and of what the future might bring for them both- together. He did not realize that he had spoken, and still knew not what his words were, even when Maedhros answered detachedly. 

"They are our fourth half-cousins, and of mixed blood where ours is purely Nolorian. I truly doubt much familial resemblance is apparent, beyond that of most any Elven-folk." And he shifted again, his back nearly facing the fire by that time. 

Maglor blinked, as if waking from a daze; and perhaps he had been entranced, captivated by the echoing evils of his past and the innocence in his arms, and wondering if there could ever be common ground. But he feared two eyes alone could not find the path, and if one needs be cleared, he had not enough strength to forge it by himself.   
He said, "I want to do right by them, Maedhros; it is all I want now. Will you not help me, brother?" 

"I have been helping you," Maedhros replied over his shoulder. He thought of his riding with one child or the other every day, and time spent in watching over them. All of which he did without request or thanks, knowing it to be his brother's want, and Maedhros had not the heart to deny his last living sibling any single desire. Thus remembering his loyalty and love, he added quietly, "But what more assistance do you need?" 

"You say you help already, yet one child lies alone on the dirt," Maglor chided, more harshly than he intended. "What do you imagine I would ask?" 

"The Firstborn awoke by the shores of Cuivienen on the dirt," Maedhros casually noted. "I do not recall grandfather Finwe complaining about it." 

"You mock me," Maglor growled. 

Maedhros stifled his curt reply, and sighed, turning himself back towards the fire. "Nay, not you. I am weary from our deeds and this tedious journey home; forgive my foul mood." The sentence was smooth with practice; an apology he has made repeatedly throughout the years. And once looking at Maglor's face, seeing there the need clearly written, he was powerless to deny that which his sibling desired, as it had been since the very day Feanor's second son was born. A toy, a game, a story, a hug; nothing was denied Maedhros' beloved little brother. 

Maedhros rose, and walked to the Peredhel lying on the ground, picking him up with utmost care, having no will to tolerate his protests if woken. He remembered several occasions of carrying his siblings in such a way, when they were as small and young- but quickly banished the image. Earendil's sons would never be compared to the memory of his slain brothers; someplace a line must be drawn, and that would be where.   
"Come you to bed now, Maglor, 'tis late." 

"I shall, soon," he answered, looking down. His brother nodded, and left silently.

  


Entering the tent he shared with Maglor and the sons of Earendil, Maedhros set the young one down on his own bedroll, and paced restlessly. It struck him as ironic and wrong, how Maglor seemed content to substitute Earendil's sons for Feanor's Silmarils; two admittedly valuable babes for an undeniably invaluable jewel. An unfair trade, to be certain, and Maedhros could never bring himself to substitute the Mariner's children for his only living brother- not by far. 

But he feared the exchange would eventually be made on Maglor's behalf, with or without Maedhros' consent- if it were not already done. It was a painfully contradictory twist to the strategy Maedhros devised with harboring the Peredhil in the first place. How could they be traded for Feanor's jewels if they were as revered as a Silmaril itself? It was not supposed to happen this way, and Maedhros was not fond of his plans failing so swiftly and irrevocably. He felt as if standing suddenly in second place, where before he had always been first. A single fist clenched at the thought, that he had been somehow demoted, that he had been replaced or bested without trial or chance. His eyes found the sleeping Peredhel, and bore into him with emotions Maedhros did not previously realize he harbored towards the child. 

"Usurper," he seethed, and his feet carried him closer. 

He looked down upon the child deliberately, as he usually preferred not to do. He could see every part of him in his face alone; each feature told the tale of a different lineage, every curve tracing another kindred's history. Maedhros stiffened, considering for the first time that this crossbred child- by law the next rightful King of the Exiled Noldor after Earendil- was even _less_ Noldor than the Mariner himself. 

"Hail Gil-galad, and may he never fall," he said, not sarcastically in the least, his eyes fixed on the King's sleeping heir. "For the crown will mean little by the time you inherit it." A strange satisfaction sated him from the words, followed by biting shame. He had no right to be resentful towards this child, and he knew it. But logic seldom triumphs when envy is involved.

Maedhros looked away suddenly, hearing footsteps outside, coming closer. 

Maglor entered the tent without sound, the second child cradled in his arms, still sleeping. The sons of Feanor met each other's eyes and remained locked. Both spoke simultaneously, silencing just the same, and fate would have them look away at once. Maglor moved to his bedroll, and settled himself upon it for sleep, his precious charge kept securely along his side. Maedhros turned towards the child occupying his own place, and the child's twin doing likewise. 

If Maglor had cared to look, he would have seen his brother leave their tent, and his campfire-casted shadow pacing the outside until dawn. 

But he did not look.

  


***continued***

  



	5. Chapter Five

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Five**  
_Maedhros_

  
  
  


_I was wrong. It is _you_, my brother, who does not see. You see not the Light, or rather, you do not _know_ that you see it. You desire these children, just as do I... yet you know not why, and I do. I see, and I understand. You see, and know not at what you look. 'Tis strange... watching you fuss and suffer, try and fail, with such determination, such devotion... and to think you know not even _why_. Absurd. Intolerable._

I wish to tell you, to enlighten you. But you would not understand. Indeed, you would rather_ not know, I wager. You would rather believe yourself attracted to the Peredhil's youthful innocence, you would rather think yourself acting out of kindness and good will than obsession and lust. _

You are bound now to those children, as surely and unconditionally as all of Feanor's sons are bound to the Silmarils themselves. I think it is your pledge to care for Earendil's sons which is occupying your sanity until we again have a chance to reclaim father's precious jewels. And I? 

I maintain my sanity by watching you, and assuring myself that someday_ those miserable brats will return your love, or at least have the decency to respond to your affection. You try so hard for them, brother... so very hard. At the expense of your own happiness, you spend yourself tirelessly for theirs. All for naught, as they _will not_ be pleased. _

I cannot bear it, sometimes, seeing you with them. They who do not respect you, they who do not appreciate you, they who do not obey you... And I so wish I could make them. If for nothing else than to see you smile, to hear you laugh, to know that you received any amount of reward or gratification... If I could make them give it to you, I would. And you would never even have to know... 

No! What am I thinking? I _cannot_ make them. As Maglor has already demonstrated, they cannot be made to behave in any certain way. Or... perhaps my brother is simply being too lenient. Maybe he is giving them options. I might have more success. I could at least try. Nothing to harm by simply speaking with them about... some things. 

It was a long journey returning from Sirion, and I think Maglor is still tired, though it was some time ago that we arrived home at last. But his energy is sapped by those children, and at this rate he will never recover. They are running him ragged, as he waits on them hand and foot. Nay, not that they request his services... but he tires, regardless. Always, he is trying. I must help him, or I must... stop him. 

"Your brother, my Lord?" The sentry confirms unnecessarily, never one to pass up using extra words. 

I simply nod. 

"Yes, he rode out with the border guards late last night. Did no one tell you?" 

"They did not." I frown deeply. "Maglor had a plan of this beforehand?" 

"Nay, Lord Maedhros... As I understand there was something brought up about discrepancies in the line of defense along the easternmost-" 

I hold up my hand, effectively hushing the always over-talkative sentry. "That is quite enough, thank you. Would it be sufficient to say that Maglor will not return for some time yet?" 

The sentry eyes me, ever so cautiously curious. "Well, yes, my Lord. I would say most definitely so." 

I smile without thinking, and hope no suspicion will arise from it. "Very good. Thank you." 

I leave him with his ponders and make my way to the prisoners' quarters... actually, the only 'prisoners' we presently keep are the Peredhil, and their bedroom is quite near to Maglor's own. So it is not any dungeon or special wing that I travel to, but rather to a chamber equally as ornate as any other. And nearer to my brother than even I sleep. 

"Peredhil," I announce upon entering. 

They spin from the mirror where they were playing, making faces and matching each other's expression. Now that they see me, standing alone in the doorway and effectively blocking any escape route, their faces do indeed match- in fear. 

They do not answer my greeting, and that annoys me dearly. "_Hello_, children," I say pointedly, expecting for sure that they will grasp my meaning. But still, they speak not one word of recognition. I grunt under my breath. "You two have no right to behave rudely," I grate, "not towards me or any of those who serve under me, and _certainly_ not towards Maglor."

They glance at each other, close to panicking from the looks of them, though still remaining silent. 

"Well? Have you no explanation? You cannot even say 'hello'?" Nothing. I feel an involuntary grimace take control of my face. "Answer me when I speak to you, sons of Earendil. I will not abide this blatant disregard for common courtesy." 

One looks nervously behind me, searching for what, I know not. "Where is Maglor?" the other one asks, with a trace of defiance that vexes me more than if he had said nothing at all.

"He is away," I answer tonelessly. "And he will not return for some time." 

The silent one seems to quiver, as if I confirmed with my words some unnamed dread he held, and the one who spoke speaks no more. I move into the room, closing the door behind me. The Peredhil huddle a bit closer together as I approach, and they freeze in place as I search for which words I care to use. 

"You know," I begin, "my brother is quite fond of you both." I cannot tell if they purposefully shake their heads, or if they are merely shaking all over. "And I, of course, am terribly fond of my brother." Yes, they most definitely are shaking in general.

I stop a moment to examine the quilt on their bed, which looks oddly familiar... Ah, yes. It used to be in Maglor's room. His favorite blanket, because it reminds him of one our mother made years ago... He gave the Peredhil his favorite blanket. Is it because they remind him of her? Of when our parents and we seven children were a complete family still? Or of the family Maglor might have had of his own? Surely he does not see these children as his own sons... That would be ridiculous! My teeth grind of their own accord at the thought. 

"Would it kill you," I hear myself say, "to show my brother the barest indication of affinity?" They are now holding on to each other, and it angers me that they would harbor such distrust when I have done nothing to earn it, yet they will display no gratitude after all the generosity Maglor has shown. Whence does their fear of me come? No, no, none of that- I need not concern myself with me; this is about Maglor, who tries so hard, who gives so much. 

"He has donated to you your own room," my thoughts bleed into words, "and he has gifted you with many toy-things... he lets you play at any time and nap by your whim or not at all, and you have privacy and personal attendants and-" I notice tears gather in their eyes... pending rain in the looming storm...  
"You have everything," I state. "You are treated like princes. And all he wants, all he _needs_, is a simple thanks, a little esteem. Why will you not reward him such?"

I step forward, "Do you not see that you hurt him so?" One begins to cry silently, the other still keeping his tears in check. "Answer me, Peredhil. Do you not even _care_?" A thought comes to me, that they do not actually _know_ of Maglor's efforts, or the harm their indifference does him... But no, I push the thought away. They deserve more credit than that. They _must_ know. They must be doing this on purpose to spite Maglor and me both. They must. 

I pick the uncrying child up, lifting him from his underarms until he is face to face with me. "Why are you doing this to us? What pleasure do you take from my brother's woe, and from the rift you are driving between us?" I feel a weak tugging on the rim of my boot and ignore it. The child I hold has now begun to cry as his brother had before him. 

His tears, I ignore as well. I only have eyes and ears for what I want to see and hear. "_Speak_, child." I shake the one in my grasp, and he seems to twist backwards as if in pain. I must wonder if falling on his head would be somehow preferable to simply being in my close proximity. 

Now there is a faint, albeit perpetual, tapping going on. I glance down to see the other child pounding away at my shin, no doubt trying with all his might to crack the bone. I suppress a laugh and shake my head, setting the writhing babe I hold on the bed. His feisty brother, I heft and toss down beside him. 

They get their knees under them and haste to the opposite end of the mattress, watching me warily. I sit down, my back to them, defeated. Defeated by a couple of Half-mortal whelps, who have done nothing but hold their little tongues to thwart me so. 

"Sons of Earendil..." I sigh heavily, "your life here can be as pleasant, or as unpleasant, as you make it." I feel the blanket on which I sit pull taut under me as they clutch the cover tight in fists of anticipation. 

"I do not want to see anyone suffer with pain of any sort." I twist at the waist to look at them, slowly bringing up the stump of my right wrist for them to see closely. One winces, but the other looks more concerned than appalled. "I am no stranger to agony, and there are many different kinds of it... some severe and imminent, and some dull and ghostly." I turn away again, confident that I have their undivided attention. 

"My brother does not deserve any more punishment from the likes of you than he already delivers upon himself. And I have enough grief in my heart without watching him despair in his fruitless efforts to appease you." 

I stand, and walk to the door, stopping before opening it. "When he comes here tonight, thank him warmly for all the kindness he has shown to you." I think for a moment; an image of my brother smiling fuels my next words. "Then tell him-- nay, _assure_ him, that you love him." 

Turning halfway, I give them a stern glance. "And someday very soon, I had best be convinced that you mean it." 

With that I leave quickly, unwilling to see the abhorrence no doubt manifest on their faces. 

My 'talk' somehow became a bit... distorted, I realize. I wish now that I had not acted so, but perhaps... perhaps it will be worth it in the end. 

  


*******

  


My chest is tight with grief that is not mine, though mayhap it ought to be. Unable to sleep, I rise from the restlessness of my bed to dispel the burdensome anxiety that plagues me. Eventually, my midnight trek brings me to Maglor's quarters, where I find him sitting in front of a fiercely burning fire, singing mournfully with his eyes closed, as tears occasionally find their way down his cheeks. 

I only knew I would find him here in his study, like this, because such instincts are the bond of brothers. The room is a hue of crimson, illuminated only by the flaming hearth, all outside light denied by the window curtains drawn shut. It is a melancholy Maglor indeed, who would shun the starlight so, instead confining himself to this gloomy interior- and alone, no less. But I know my brother well; I know he would welcome company under any circumstance, despite his mood. 

I have heard this particular song Maglor sings many times before. He wrote it to commemorate simple sadness, and it does the job well. Coming to sit on the floor, nestled by my brother's feet on his left side, I finish the song with him; as always keeping my voice well lower than his, as it has never been and will never be as accomplished as Maglor's. I only consider my voice worthy of singing with his at all because it serves as pristine example of how glorious Maglor really does sound. We linger together on the last note, I enjoying my brother's sound, and he -I like to think- enjoying my company. 

He nods appreciatively in acknowledgement to me, and wipes his tear-streaked face with one hand. The other, he sets palm-up on the armrest of his chair, and I reach across my body to place my left hand in his. 

"Thank you," he whispers. 

I grunt. "Aye, 'tis a fine song... would that I could do it and its author justice." 

Maglor shakes his head, eyes still closed, and smiles in a way that looks more like a wince to me. "Nay, you do. You do." 

I feel that his hand in mine is barely shaking, and I surmise it is from suppressed sobs. I wish to say something to bring his attention away from whatever sorrows it lingers upon, and decide to converse on what I feel would make Maglor happiest, for all that it fills me only with ire.   
"You ought to teach the Peredhil to sing. As the distant sons of Melian, they should make apt pupils of the art." At my suggestion Maglor chokes on his breath and releases my hand, supporting his head with it instead as he weeps openly.

And I cringe, my skin fevered with anger and guilt. If there is one thing I cannot bear above all other things, is it seeing my sibling grieve. Heavens, especially when it is my own words that bring the tears!   
"Speak to me," I say, and Maglor knows from experience that it is _not_ a question.

"They hate me!" he blurts, and shakes his head in bewilderment. "Tonight I went to them after my return, and I brought sweetbread and new toys, and they refused to eat or play, touching neither plate nor toy. And they said, 'we will never love you, even if you force us to say so'. But I only- they... _why_?"

He bangs his fist down atop the armrest, and I scarcely snatch back my own hand in time to save it from being pummeled.

"Why would they say such a thing?" He puts his head back in his hand, and rasps, "Ai, Maedhros, I do not understand. Ever have I been kind to them, and patient, and gentle. And for my part I- I sincerely like them..." a tinge of shame colored his last words, but he frowns deeply when he continues, "Yet they simply despise me!" 

I had been biting my tongue the whole while as he spoke, and now must wonder if it will work quite as well ever again. He asked me, clear and precise, why the Peredhil spoke to him so. It is because of me, because of the things I said to them earlier- but Maglor cannot know that! It was an accident, after all; I never meant for our 'talk' to fall apart the way it did. I was only trying to help. And some good can come of this still; I simply must be tactful about it. 

"Maglor, perhaps you are going about this the wrong way." He wipes his tears again and looks at me. "I think... they do not want what you want, and if you would put some distance between yourself and the Peredhil for a time, you would see that." 

"What do you mean?" He bristles a little, but I can see that he also considers my words. 

So I continue, just as mildly, "I too thought they would soften a bit after Sirion, but recently I have perceived that it is not to be so." I want to tell him that his method of being kind to Earendil's sons will never work, since I even failed to _intimidate_ them into behaving graciously. But my brother will never hear that from me. And if he hears it from them, it might be the last tale they tell. 

Maglor seems to slump now, that is, more than he had already, and he sighs wearily. "It may be that you are right, Maedhros. Though I admit, my heart does not wish to believe it is as you say." 

I stand, coming behind Maglor in his chair, and place my hand on his shoulder. "And therein lies the problem, I think. Not in your intentions, but in your very heart. For it is too heavily laden with the burden of grief, and not enough enlightened with the joy you crave." I give a firm squeeze. "Find some contentment, Maglor, even if it takes you longer than it ought. But search only in places where it might be found, otherwise you would be spent just as well not looking at all." 

His head drops so suddenly that I see it bounce on his chest. "I wish we had them, Maedhros," he whispers, desperately. "So dearly do I wish we had them... and then all of this might feel worth it. If we only had father's Silmarils!"

My stomach clenches in failure and shame, and my head drops as well. "I know," I answer. "Someday, Maglor. Someday." It is an empty promise, but I cannot help myself. I would say anything to make him feel even a little better... And besides, what is one more hollow, possibly insatiable, vow made on my part? I cannot be cursed twice. 

"I must take care of them," he says suddenly. "I cannot give them up for lost, not yet. I knew this road would be treacherous ere I set foot upon it- now is not the time to abandon this quest! Besides, if I meant to forsake them, 'twould have been better to have left them at Sirion, to await eventual discovery there." 

My mouth goes dry. Does he realize that he talks in the same tone whether he speaks of the Silmarils or the Peredhil? I suppose there is little difference regardless... Each is coveted, and both are seemingly unattainable. 

"See them cared for, brother, if you must... but do it from afar." He stiffens slightly. I lean down closer. "The farther you are from them, at least emotionally, the less they can hurt you."

"I doubt it," he counters without hesitation. 

"Try it and find out," I plead. 

He laughs, softly. "When it hurts too much, I believe I will, lest I despair for my failure." 

"Thank you." I straighten. "I cannot bear to see you pained." Had I intended to admit such, I most probably would have worded it more subtly. But it is too late now, for so many things. 

Maglor laughs again, irony twisting his sad tone. "Perhaps it is _we_ who should be more distant, in this case." 

I would sooner smother the Peredhil in their sleep and do battle with Morgoth himself for the Silmarils he keeps. Putting such thoughts aside, I force myself to smile, hoping it will carry to my voice. "I speak of lessening your suffering, and all you can think of is lessening the advice you receive." I sigh, "An elder brother's work is never done." 

Maglor leans his head against my hand for a moment, and when he removes it I pat his shoulder before taking my hand away. "I leave you to your thoughts, brother." Walking towards the door, I add before leaving, "Please, remember what I said." And I know that he will: such instincts are the bond of brothers. 

  


***continued***

  



	6. Chapter Six

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Six**  
_Interlude_

  
  
  


_ Sweet songs were sung well into the night,   
and all in range halted briefly with delight,   
indulging the melody, closing their eyes from sight.   
One single voice, both skilled and fair,   
rose clear and strong into the air.   
Out of harm's reach, above hate or retreat,  
the voice rang gladly, of true love and great feats.  
When the poems and tales had all been told,  
lest his sound grow old,   
the singer could sing no more,  
so the children he bid goodnight- repeatedly as an encore.  
At last they answered, thinking it more than deserved;  
their voices like whispers, rather ignored than heard.   
Relieved to tears, the singer smiled in thanks,   
stood from his chair, and left without haste._

  


The muffled sound of falling footsteps fading to silence in the distance, but the telltale creak of an old wood door told of Maglor's entrance to his own room. One child rose from the bed immediately, and crossed the room to draw the curtains open.  
Still tucked into the adjacent bed, his brother asked, "Do you like it here?" 

Gazing at the stars above, the other replied, "I hate it here."

To better see his twin, the child sat up in bed and bit his lower lip. "Mother said not to use that word."

"Mother's not here," his brother answered, bitterly.

The sitting child frowned, and wiped at his face as unkind memories fought for his attention. Seeking a timely distraction, he asked, "Do you feel like singing? I remember some of Maglor's songs..." 

"About what, happiness and love and peace? No, I don't care to recall."

The other sobbed once before catching himself, holding his breath to keep silent. But it was enough. Enough for his brother to feel ashamed and sorry for his words, and return to comfort his twin.

"I'm sorry, Elenion." 

"Are you mad at me?" Elenion blurted, lifting his tear-streaked face, his pained eyes full of confusion. 

"No," replied his brother, crawling back into bed. "Of course not."

So terrible was their mutual grief over recent occurrences that grudges were never held between them; to do so would be unbearable. They felt each other's pain as surely as their own, and both understood how frustration could sometimes warp one's heart and actions. They lay back against their pillows together, close in one another's embrace, and Eldahir dried his brother's tears with the sleeve of his shirt. For a while they remained thusly, without comfort or assurance needed in words.

"Eldahir, I miss mother," one said suddenly. "It isn't getting easier, like Maglor said it would." 

"I know," answered the other, adding tensely, "He knows it too."

"I think..." Elenion searched carefully for the best words. "I think I want to leave. I don't care what happens; I just want to go." 

Eldahir pushed his brother away gently, and only by a few inches, looking long at the face that was his own mirror image. "Do you mean that? You said you were so afraid, when I got angry with Maglor that time and yelled at him... You said you think they'll hurt us if we do things like that, if we make them mad at us." 

His brother frowned. "They cannot hurt us if we're gone, whether they're mad or not." Looking down, he said quieter, "And I hurt already, Eldahir, right now, I hurt inside. Please... can we go?"

Eldahir lifted his brother's chin, and asked softly, "Do you remember which way we came?" 

"A little," was the hesitant reply. 

"The sun rose on our right and set on our left, did it not?" 

A smile came to Elenion, for he sensed his twin's thoughts. "Yes, but it will rise on our left and set on our right, when we go back."

Eldahir smiled as well, though his was a bit less innocent. "Until tomorrow then, Elenion." 

"Until tomorrow." 

  


***continued***

  



	7. Chapter Seven

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Seven**  
_Maglor_

  
  
  


The children are not well. Were they full-blooded elves, I would be doubly as worried. As it is, I merely cannot sleep for my anxiety. They, on the other hand, could very well die for their grief. Or can they? They are Peredhil. Only partially Elven on each of their parent's sides... even descended from Melian the Maia by their mother's line. I admit that I truly do not know if that leaves them susceptible to every Elvish weakness, few though there are. I do not know if these grieving brothers will perish if not brought from their despair, or if they will simply live miserable lives. 

Again, I remind myself that I have done this to them. Should they not mend, and indeed expire, 'tis my actions which would have delivered them unto death. 

I pace my room, unable to stop. They hardly even speak to me... I pour myself some wine, then some more. They will scarcely even eat... My restlessness brings me to the recreation hall, where I remove anyone in my aimless path with a dangerous glare copied from my brothers. And what's more, the children have already tried to escape, repeatedly. 

When they are not in my company and thoroughly ignoring my very presence, they are I know not where, hiding from their other caretakers. And they hide admirably well. In fact, it takes the servants all the time between events just to locate the twins for the next occasion. And when that meal or lesson or nap or bathing session is over with, the clever little Half-elflings always manage somehow to disappear again. And so the cycle repeats itself. Woe be unto those poor servants whose chore it is to hunt uncooperative Peredhil night and day. And their behavior is as innocent as it is convenient! For it is during their unsupervised excursions that they have twice slipped past the watch sentries unnoticed, and made it as far as beyond the first boundary circle! 

Even still, I feel nothing but relief upon their safe return. I do not believe they act as they do to spite or anger me- though the suspicion did cross my mind in the beginning of our... association. Rather it is now my belief that they act as they do out of desperation and unhappiness. Where they would go if I gave them leave I do not know. I hope I never find out. 

Eventually my wandering takes me to the afternoon's destination; the children's bedroom. I dally there, waiting. At length a female Elf-servant enters the room with a huff. She does not notice me until she removes a cloth from her forehead, immediately bowing in acknowledgement. I greet her with a nod, noticing the sheen of sweat covering her exposed skin. 

It is a warm day, true, but it takes much to make the Eldar sweat. More than mere summer heat... Like a desperate sprint through the woods, carrying two young Peredhil after an afternoon of panicked searching. By the exhausted, exasperated expression on the poor nurse's face, I wager that I am correct in my imaginings. 

"Forgive me, Lord Maglor..." she sighs and straightens her soiled, disheveled clothing, "they got away again. A thousand apologies for that, and our lateness. I am sincerely sorry." Her eyes remain downcast, but I know she means every word. She, like all others, understands how much Earendil's sons mean to me. 

Momentarily, two male guards step through the open door. They each carry one of the twins, and they each appear nearly as worn as the nursemaid before them. 

"Lord Maglor," they both salute and bow. I notice the children in their arms grasp them tighter in alarm as the guards bend at the waist to acknowledge me, their Lord. Apparently the Peredhil expected a prompt deposit onto the floor... I personally would not have blamed the guards. 

"All is well," I assure everyone with a nod and a relaxed expression. "You three are dismissed." 

The guards nod in turn and set the children to the ground. I think by their faces that the young Peredhil will not be missed.

Then the nursemaid catches my eye with an unsure look. "Pardon, Lord, but the children are in desperate need of a bath and have not yet eaten... Should I attend to them before I go?"

I consider this as a great opportunity and shake my head. "Nay, I shall see to their needs personally this noon. And you needn't return to put them to bed, either, for I've no other engagements today, and shall remain with them until they retire." I see the nursemaid is taken by surprise, but she does not betray her manners. 

"Yes, my Lord, as you wish. Good day." 

"Good day," I return, and wait until she is gone. Then my little troublemakers are awarded my full attention. 

"Had some fun today, did we?" I say it smiling, and there is no malice in my tone or meaning, but still they regard me warily, through slightly narrowed gazes. 

"Now, children... Did I not say that all is well? Have you no doubts! I am an elf of my word." I sit on their bed and pat both hands to either side of me. "Why not come sit a while, and tell me of your adventure!" 

They glance at each other but do not budge. I sigh, already becoming frustrated. This is invariably what happens every time I try to spend time with them. They rarely answer me, they never initiate any communication, and by their stormy eyes I am always left feeling that I have been judged and found wanting. Which I very well may be, but must they remind me of it? 

I decide to be forthcoming with them, as I often do. "Why do you flee, children?" My voice sounds defeated and tired. I do not expect an answer. 

"Because we don't like it here," one of them says simply. 

I blink and a frown takes control of my face. "So now of a sudden you answer me when I speak?" 

"He thought you really did not know," says the other one. 

They only reply to questions of which they think I do not already know the answers? Well, their little game is not without flaws. 

"I know not your names, and have asked you for them several times... Why then do you not answer me?" 

The children look down, and say no more. I refuse to be annoyed. If I am to remain in their company for hours yet, 'twill not be spent in anger. 

"Very well; I shall make some up for you!" 

That gets their attention, and they nearly glare at me. "We will not keep your names," one replies for both, and the answer seems acceptable to his twin, as he affirms with a nod. 

I sigh again and ask tiredly, "What else am I supposed to call you?" My head is beginning to ache. "Surely you do not wish to be known only as 'Peredhil'." 

"Call us _free_," starts one pointedly.   
"And then all shall truly be well," finishes the other. 

All words fail me as I behold their faces. So young to have already been so cruelly slighted by fate... I pray they will not grow to be bitter. "I cannot free you, children." Certainly they would rather not know that I am quite fond of them, whether they hate me or not, and that I have no intention to be without their company, no matter how... arduous. So I shall not tell them that. But I say, "You are safe here, because I will protect you. But I also need... certain things, and you provide me with such. Do you understand?" 

One of them looks down in thought, but the others' eyes bore into me with antagonism. "And who shall protect you from us?" he asks rather seriously. I carefully do not laugh out loud. Clearly he believes himself to be a threat, and I shall not be the one to disillusion him on this day. 

"Perhaps your brother will," I counter smugly, "for he seems the wiser of you two." 

The one in question looks up at that, and at first his innocently beautiful, boyish face is to me completely unreadable. Then he speaks. 

"Give to me a weapon of defense, Feanor-spawn, and I will slay thee with it." 

And thus his thoughts are made known. This little thing, this tiny Elf-boy who is not yet old enough to prepare his own meals, has just threatened the life of the mighty Elf-Lord Maglor, second son of Feanor, a _Kinslayer_. And yet still, even _still_, I am just as glad that he is at least speaking to me. This crossbred whelp, my prisoner by all intents and purposes, who has not in all this time even told me his name, has _bewitched_ me so! How? How could it be, that I am so thoroughly _smitten_? How is it that my only thoughts now are bent towards how Earendil ever managed to sail himself away from these sons of his? 

I push the thoughts away, and gather myself to stand. Perhaps I am doing this all wrong. Perhaps it would be best as Maedhros said, and I should be working to put _distance_ between these children and me, instead of the other way around...  
Perhaps, but I already dismissed the nursemaid, and made a claim which I shall honor. But today will be the last day of 'bonding' with Earendil's sons. After this, they are my prisoners of war; not my personal guests, not my adopted wards. 

"It is time for your bath, Peredhil, for I shall suffer the stench of you no longer." 

Both children stare, first at me and then at each other, first surprised and then embarrassed. They do not really stink, in fact, and I find myself unsatisfied to have successfully offended them. 

They lead themselves to the nearest bathing chamber, and I remember that as I sent the nursemaid away, there is no warm bath prepared; I shall have to draw their bath. 

I do not even draw my own baths... 

I sense their eyes on me, their amusement almost palpable. I do my best to ignore their stares and go about filling a tub. I put a pot over a fire to heat -a fire that I first must light- and draw up fresh well water from a pulley rigged to the window. That bucket I bring to the fire, deposit its contents into the pot to warm, and go to retrieve more water. Upon returning with the second amount, the first is ready to be poured into an empty washing basin, then I return to the window for more water as the other batch heats. And repeat, and repeat. The process takes me longer that it would if I were accustomed to the chore, I deem.

Meanwhile the twins, I remain certain, are ever finding great delight in my task. Achieving emotional distance from them suddenly feels insufficient. Physical distance seems much more appealing. 

When finally the basin is filled high enough with warm enough water, I turn at last to my charges. They are not grinning, as I might have expected, but mirth or something like it does dance in their duplicate set of eyes. I bid one of them come forward, but neither moves. I grumble without intention and step towards them both, dropping to my knees and taking to the job of undressing the child I happened to choose first. In all honesty I still cannot tell them apart. 

They watch my every movement with utmost alertness. I take care to be gentle and slow, remembering well the only other time I tried to undress them. 'Twas early in our time together; during the journey home from Sirion, in fact, and also for the purpose of a bath. At that point their fear of me exceedingly outweighed any form of trust. They began to weep then, and I still know not exactly why. Perhaps it was that being undressed made them feel even more vulnerable, or perhaps it was simply that they did not want me to touch or see them thus. Since then a servant or nurse was appointed to those aspects of their needs, and never again did I take it upon myself to care for them in such ways. Until now. 

Having the one stripped to his trousers, I set the small, filthy shirt aside and make a note to bid the maids stop dressing them in white! Before continuing I check both twins' faces to evaluate their degree of unrest. Though their eyes never leave me, I see more curiosity than disquiet. 

Assured, I move on to the child's waist and untie his pants. I wonder if they remember the last time I did this, and the unhappiness it caused. I think to ask, but decide against it. _Gain distance_, I tell myself. _Not understanding, Maglor; distance_. 

Once finished with the first I gesture to the other. To my surprise they switch places immediately. I again take the same caution with the next child; being slow, gentle and as unobtrusive as possible -if possible at all when undressing someone. Again they both keep studious watch of me, and I cannot help but wonder if they eye their other caretakers in the same manner, or if I am just special in an unwelcome kind of way. I must remind myself to stop seeking their acclaim! No longer will I strive to appease these children -these _prisoners_. 

When at last I have them both unclothed and their garments set well aside to await a much-needed cleaning, I go to the side of the tub. Both children follow behind me. I find no words of direction are needed as I heft one and then the other into the bath. They watch me perpetually, quietly, deliberately, and at once I think I may go mad in such judgmental silence. No, no, I must not care. Not about what they think, and not for what they do. If anything, I should have their behavior curbed so as not to vex me so. Yes, that is how it should be... 

I take a deep breath and begin to wash one child, and then the other. It does my heart a terrible injury to observe their naked bodies... It is worse than I thought. Their depression has already begun to take a physical toll. They have hardly grown at all since Sirion, and that was too long ago now for no change to be apparent- or was it? Will they mature at an Elven rate or closer to that of a human? Or perhaps somewhere in between? Regardless, for what trivial amount their limbs may have lengthened, little to no muscle has been added. They are far too lean, far too delicate. It pains me more with every touch, every glance. They are only going to worsen, unless something does change, unless I can-_no_, no, I must not think that way! If prisoners do not eat, if prisoners become ill and have no desire to get better, then there is nothing to be done. 

When next I look up, one of their faces is concerned, and the other confused. I blink, taken a bit aback by the remarkable change from their previous stares of unnerving scrutiny. Had my expression slipped to mirror my thoughts? Was I scowling? I meant not to alarm them... Though even still, they do not speak, and I care not to ask questions that I feel certain they will not answer. So instead I ask a question which I at least have great hope may interest them. 

"Are you hungry, sons of Earendil?" My voice betrays my hopefulness, and my anxiety makes me go on before they could answer or no. "I will be joining you for your afternoon meal today. I shall have prepared anything you wish." 

Not being aware of my private concerns for their health, I imagine they wonder why I am so eager to feed them. I suffer their silence only a moment before dropping the subject. They will eat whatever I feed them, as any prisoner should... and if they don't... I shall feed them something else. 

"Well," I begin, my optimism significantly depleted, "we're all finished here. Out you go." 

One by one I remove them from the water. My attention is diverted for a moment as I go to fetch towels from a nearby shelf. Turning back around, I am startled and heartened to witness them frolicking around the room a bit, either dancing or chasing each other I cannot tell; neither can I tell if they are happy to be clean, or less modestly, happy to be naked. 

The display does not last long, for as soon as I kneel down with an open towel they come to me to be dried, one after the other.

It occurs to me that I haven't brought anything to dress them in for our return to their room. I scan the bathchamber, thinking perhaps to find extra robes or undershirts... no, there are none. Naturally; when everyone else comes to bathe, they think ahead and bring with them all they should need for the task. 

I consider my embarrassment should I pass anyone in the halls while carrying two damp Half-elves clothed only in over-large bath towels... No doubt they would salute and bow and ask if I wouldn't like them to take the prisoners off my hands... But what they would be _thinking_ is 'poor Maglor, who is as good at fulfilling his vow to care for Earendil's children as he is at recovering his father's Silmarils.' Or perhaps not... either way I pray the halls will be devoid of passers-by until we reach the children's bedroom. 

I turn to gather Earendil's sons, wondering if I might catch another glimpse of them celebrating their cleanliness and/or nakedness... only to find that I am alone in an otherwise empty room. So this is what it feels like to be a nursemaid in the service of the second son of Feanor: madness. 

  


***continued***

  



	8. Chapter Eight

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Eight**  
_Maedhros_

  
  
  


I have never felt this way. I wonder if any elf ever has before me. It is... unpleasant, I have decided, and a little frightening. I want to do... strange things. I want to _break_ things. 

_Maglor, my dear brother... You foolish, persistent, silly elf. This is so infuriating for me. And it is so very _like_ you._

From my window, I watch my brother in the fields below, teaching the Peredhil how to ride horses. The actual lesson lasted for approximately one half of an hour. And now the children ride naturally, as if born on a horse's back. Maglor watches them with a smile. Even from here, _easily_ from here, I can see that it is a prideful and parental smile he wears.

_Spite. Drat! Maglor, do not be dense! They are not smiling because of you; they are smiling because of the wind in their hair and the sun in their eyes. They are not happy for your company; they are happy for the distraction from it. Ai!_

I sincerely want to break something, and I do not enjoy wanting such a thing... I leave the window, then my chamber, and go sit in the darkest room I can find, and brood.

A memory comes to my recollection of a time not long ago, when Maglor rushed to me in a breathless frenzy, his eyes red from suppressed tears and his face contorted with dire worry. I had actually been searching for him at the time, because I noticed a panicked hustle in the step of every elf I passed that day, though each of them I questioned insisted that nothing was out of the ordinary. So I meant to ask Maglor about it, naturally.

"The Peredhil have escaped," he said before I could speak, nearly choking on his words. And then I understood the servants at least, for such was indeed nothing unusual. 

"Ah," I said, "so they are hiding again... Well, post sentries at the kitchens, for that is surely where they will reappear first, once the pangs of hunger assault their little tummies."

Maglor nodded firmly, not at all sated by my attempted placidity. "No. It is not like the last times... They have been missing all day, possibly even since last night." 

I frowned. "How is this any different?"

He became irate in short time, and scowled deliberately at me. "Because they normally are found within a matter of hours, Maedhros! Is there nothing you notice?"

I could not help but retaliate, so foul was my mood already that day. "By the love of Iluvatar, do compose yourself, brother... You whine like a mortal." 

He took offence, visible only in his eyes. 

"They will be found eventually, like always. What is the worst that could happen?" I asked. 

"They could be hurt!" he snapped.

I replied nothing, for reasons I still do not know. Maglor eyed me with daggers, and silently left on his way, on his senseless search, like a pup trailing devoutly after its misplaced pack. Just like that, he chose the Peredhil over me, and it was not the first time.

That very afternoon I rode out on my stallion for higher grounds, to overlook the landscape. It took me not an hour to spot them; on the opposite range as I, much to my annoyance. I counted the amount of hours I had already traveled for, concluding that it would be nearing sundown by the time I reached them o'er yonder... 

I swore under my breath and prayed to Iluvatar that one of them would slip and sprain something, so they would not get much further before I caught up to them. 

It was indeed twilight ere I came upon them finally. "You are slow walkers," I said as I exposed myself from the dense swell of trees, halting my steed in front of them to block their path. They froze in surprise, knowing better than to attempt to flee, for I was mounted and they were tired. 

I was also more than a little bothered by that time, and slipped from my horse at once. I crossed the distance of mere meters between us and was hard pressed not to sling the little whelps over my shoulders like the insolent misfits they were. But I decided that they deserved a chance, if for nothing other than my brother's sake.

"Speak this instant, sons of Earendil, for you do owe apologies and explanations... and I would hear them at once."

One of them, in his seven year-old indignity, spat at my feet. The other, arms crossed, tipped his head towards my horse behind me and said, "Amazing he did not throw you like the troll you are." 

Him, I cuffed across the cheek, and when his twin leapt at me in his brother's defense, I repeated the heinous affront. They both recovered quickly and without a single sound of protest. My only thought was that my brother would have my other hand if he learned of what I had just done.

"Peredhil," I said to them, their eyes firmly averted from my person. But that was just as well, for I did not want to see the pain and fear no doubt brewing in the storm. "You have no idea what distress you have delivered unto my brother this day. He is devastated with worry, thinking you fallen to some ill fate!"

"Then he is wise," said one to the dirt between his feet.   
"Though he could still be confirmed his fears," added the other coolly.   
"Would that he only knew of our foul ordeal in these woods," spoke the first, now brave enough to again meet my eyes.   
"Wonder what he would do," finished the second, glaring up at me as well. 

It was almost as unnerving, watching them construct a single sentence between them both, as it was being on the receiving end of their matching gazes... Their eyes shone like unforgiving stars under the moon's light, glowing hatefully at me, and glittering with malicious intent. 

"Curse you both," I hissed. "You would see an even deeper chasm split twixt my brother and I, simply for your own twisted pleasure of control." 

They displayed matching scowls, one saying, "You do not need us for that."   
And the other, "You do not need us for anything."   
Then the first, "Save for your own twisted pleasure of control."

My irritation warranted me to speak inaccurately. "No," I answered, "I do not need you at all." But of course I did. They were potential shields against seekers of vengeance for the crimes of my house, as well as bargaining stock for my father's Silmarils. "And nor do I enjoy your company," I added, and that at least was the truth. 

"Then you _do_ keep us because it pleases you that you can," one sneered. The other remained silent, a sour expression on his face.

"No, not I. But you do amuse my brother." Their lips curled in disgust, delighting me. I then stepped right up to the little whelps and one after the other slung them over each shoulder like the insolent misfits they were. They did not try to kick me in the face, as I might have suspected of them, and also to my surprise their bodies felt as light as the clothes they wore.

At first I thought to tie a rope around their waists and have them walk behind my horse for the return journey, but decided that might be a tad severe. And besides, they already seemed overly tired. So I put them both on my horse, and would have fed them had I brought any food with me. As it was I could not even give them water, since my canteen I had also neglected to carry. But they did not ask for anything of the like, and probably would have refused any offer of mine, regardless. 

I mounted behind them, and as we began the long ride home, I said by way of provoking, "The last time we rode together you children sniveled and fussed the entire way... Is there something now the matter?"

I saw from their profiles their little noses wrinkle at my subtle ridicule, and they stiffened in irritation. One murmured, "We were practically babies..."

I did not bother to tell him that they practically _still_ were babies. 

Then the other one said shamelessly, "I want to see the stars clearly before I am locked away." 

I choked back a laugh. He actually kept from crying so he could see the stars without them blurred by tears, because he thought he would be 'locked away'...? The child was as bright as he was dim. "Maglor will not lock you away for this," I said.

"Why not?" the other Peredhel challenged. 

"Because he knows not what would be best for him." 

The rest of the ride back was uneventful. The Peredhil kept their little chins up the whole while, and made no apparent notice of the unfriendly glances they received once we arrived at the stables. I gathered that Maglor must have sent many riders out since my departure, for several horses were missing, and the servants looked quite overworked and harried. 

The horse-hand that came to take my stallion utterly ignored the Peredhil as he greeted me formally, then regarded my tired steed. "Well," the servant said dryly, "this poor horse has been quite put upon tonight... Trekking all that way and bearing so much weight." 

The Peredhil bristled at his innuendo, that they were at fault for my 'poor' horse's strain, and I couldn't help myself but to reply, "Nay, these two are not so healthy, and hardly weigh a thing between them. Light as little ticks, really. I doubt my good horse even noticed."

I did not see the stable-hand's reaction, as I was engrossed with the flush of fury on the children's cheeks. Well, serves them right! I thought that perhaps then they would _eat_ something, for the love of Iluvatar, and my brother could sleep at night. 

Once dismounted, I bid my horse a good night and promised him a special treat on the morrow for his service. Then I removed the Peredhil and brought them to the main house.

I was sure by that time my brother had gotten word of my return with his wards, so I worried not for seeking him out. Instead, I took the children straight to the kitchens, and told them to sit down. I had ordered any servants therein to excuse themselves, so the room was empty save for us three. It occurred to me at the time that the library, or even my brother's own quarters, might have been a more appropriate place to await Maglor... But the fact of the matter was that I liked the kitchen room, for no particular reason. And besides that, I was hungry. Also, it seemed reasonable that Maglor would look for us there... or perhaps I do not think so clearly when I had not eaten in very long, and I had not.

I fixed a simple but ample tray of breads, cheeses and dried fruits, then joined the Peredhil at the square wooden table, which usually was employed for kneading dough upon instead of dining. I set the tray in the center of the table, seated myself, and gestured to the plate. "Please, help yourselves," I offered politely, and waited for the refusal I knew would come. 

As I expected, the children were not hungry, or pretending such was the case, and thus ignored the food and their host. I shrugged, and ate. "Usually living creatures are born with the inherent sense to feed themselves, you know..." I remarked casually. The twins folded their arms and stared at opposite walls in response. 

After a while of waiting for Maglor in vain, I brought out some wine for myself. With a doubtful grin, I asked the children, "Do either of you care for wine?" 

They answered naught, as I thought they would. "A shame. Drinking some might have had a positive effect on your charming little dispositions this night," I sniggered, and sat back down. "Well, if there _is_ anything you want, you shall have to ask me for it, because otherwise I plan not to get up again for a very long while." 

I leaned back with my wine, savoring the sweet flavor of the tonic as well as the tart look of frustration on the children's faces. I was fairly certain that if I had placed water in front of them, they would have drunk. Maybe even if I had put a biscuit under their noses they might have eaten. But it was not going to be that easy for them. Not after all of the grief they caused that day. No. If they wanted to eat, they would do so from the same plate as their caretaker, and if they wanted water, they should have to ask for it: nicely. If Maglor had been demanding similar behavior all along, they might have been humbled already.

Eventually I finished the wine, and became bored with my rest. I decided to find my brother after all. Or at lease get the children off of my... hand. 

"Come along then," I said as I stood. "I'm certain you two will want to retire to your room and begin planning your next escape." I laughed plenty at myself, thanks to the wine, and ushered the children out to the main hall, where my brother was strolling straight towards us. 

Unbelievably, Maglor looked even more haggard than he had before. "Where have you been?" I asked.

He spared me only a quick glance, saying, "Out looking for _them_, of course." He then dropped to his knees, and pulled the Peredhil into a hug. "Thank Iluvatar!" I heard him praise. He separated himself from the children and searched their faces carefully. "Are you both all right?" he asked, naturally receiving neither answer to his question nor appreciation for his concerns. 

I rolled my eyes as my brother thoroughly examined Earendil's sons limb by limb, I guessed checking for injury... "Stop fawning over them, Maglor. They are fine," I insisted, adding, "thanks to _me_." 

Maglor rose at that, and studied me with a blank expression. "Yes, I was told that you pursued them..." 

"Pursued, located, and _retrieved_ them, and you are quite _welcome_ for it," I snapped. 

He scowled at my tone and looked me up and down, as if searching for the source of my arrogance, or perhaps for the reason I swayed slightly as I stood. "It was the least you could do," he hissed scornfully, and picked up the Peredhil, who hardly even noticed, looking by then to be nearly asleep on their feet.

With nothing else, he turned and left me. 

And now here I am, sitting in the dimmest corner of the darkest room I could find, realizing that from that night on, I have felt like breaking something.

It has come to my knowledge that Gil-galad and a decent-sized host has sailed from Balar...   
I sense dark times ahead...   
My brother and I have not spoken in long...   
I find myself forfeiting my rest, and worrying ceaselessly about everything, anything, and nothing...   
The ghost of my right hand has been itching constantly...   
I am no closer to regaining the Silmarils...   
I fear I am losing my mind... 

All because of _them_. 

They are mending, and now _I_ worsen. I who was always strongest, I who was always in control... I who wants for the first time in my life to _break_ someone knowingly. No... some _thing_. Yes, some inanimate _thing_. Not a person, not a spirit, not a matching set of Mixed-breeds... I am glad that they are better now. Truly.

I just wish they had not taken my last living brother from me in order to _get_ that way. 

  


***continued***

  



	9. Chapter Nine

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Nine**  
_Interlude_

  
  
  


The Elf-lord sat silently and waited. When no movement could be seen and no sounds had been heard for long, he leaned forward. "Peredhil?" he asked in a whisper. One head turned towards him slowly, dark hair pooled against the gray pillow, illuminated by the moonlight.

"Ah, you're still awake." Maglor smiled, and sat back. 

The child, instead of nodding, quirked the corner of his mouth into a weak smile. Weak indeed, and the sum of all the strength he possessed.

"It's your turn," Maglor went on. 

"But my brother is asleep," the child said, uncertain. 

"You may sing it alone," Maglor encouraged. 

"I'm too tired..." 

"But it's you favorite verse!" Maglor leaned forward again, and cradled the child's hand, ignoring its frailty. "Come, I will sing it with you." 

It did not take long for the small hand to go limp, and the voice that sang so weakly fall back into silence. Try as he might, Maglor could not bring himself to continue the song alone. Quietly he rose, and pulled up his quilt to rest under the Peredhil's chins, and left. He walked with heavy steps to his own bedchamber, oblivious to the figure watching from the darkest end of the hall.

Inside, one child threw down his arms, freeing his neck from the thick blanket. "I hate when he does that." 

"What?" asked a drowsy voice. 

"Tries to bake us," the other panted. 

"He's trying to be nice," Elenion countered hesitantly, then added, "But I'm cooking too." 

"He treats us like weaklings," Eldahir continued to complain, then quickly stilled his voice. 

Maglor might indeed treat them like weakling, but the brothers could not deny that they deserved as much. It was understood between them that abundant energy and youthful vigor were things of the past. Often they were carried, and seldom did they run or laugh. Worst of all, they seldom noticed the change. 

"We could try to escape again," he said suddenly. "Maybe that would... help."

"I doubt it," his brother replied.

Eldahir thought for a long moment, as weariness tugged familiarly at his consciousness. But he fought to stay awake. "What's wrong with us?" he asked dully, halted by a yawn. "We used to... want things. But I've never been so tired as now, and sleeping never helps anymore. I feel like I'm-" lack of a proper description caused his silence.

"Sinking," his brother added thoughtfully. "Falling, fading... I know, I feel it too."

"We should try escaping again, just once more," Eldahir said determinedly. "We made it so far the last time, before we gave up."

"And we gave up because it was no use. It's still no use." 

Eldahir sighed, turning his head to face his twin. "Do you not want to go home still?" 

"Of course I do," Elenion said, his eyes closed. "But I'm too tired now." He blinked his eyes open, and studied his brother. "We agreed to make the best of things here."

"Only because we thought it would make us better. But we're still getting worse." 

"Was better, for a while..."

"Elenion, wake up!" 

Elenion's eyes had fluttered shut again, and he did not correct the mistake. "I'm too tired to argue. I don't want to fight." 

Eldahir sighed, and watched out of the window for a while. The difference for him between sleep and wakefulness was so vague, that he did not realize when the stars were lost to the blue sky hours later. Nor did he pay much heed when a chambermaid entered the room, and sat him and his brother up in bed, and began to dress them for the day. 

Eventually he sat at a breakfast table, his thoughts still bent on those of the previous night, and his mind still watching out of the bedroom window. 

"Here, your juice, child," someone spoke. 

"Very well," Eldahir thought he replied. 

"Have some breakfast, child," was said next to his ear, and he was vaguely aware of someone cutting fruit for him on his plate.

"Very well." 

"How well did you sleep, Peredhil?" questioned a voice that might have been Maglor's. 

"Very well," he replied, or Elenion did, or no one. Thinking on it, Eldahir decided it mattered not, and his eyes eventually focused on a mural across the dining hall. Later, after he was carried to the library, it took his mind twice as long to catch up until he actually saw the book under his eyes. And that night, the story he heard told in the early afternoon finally emerged in his recognition. 

"Elenion, every story ends, right?"

No reply came. 

"Elenion, wake," he shook his twin. "Every story has an ending, does it not?" 

"I suppose," his brother finally murmured, and turned towards his brother, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Why?"

"Are we a story?" 

"What?" 

"If we are like a story, maybe ours is over, and that's why we feel ended." Eldahir took a deep breath, and looked down to his brother. But his eyes were by then vacant in sleep, and suddenly Eldahir forgot what his thoughts had been, and without him noticing any passage of time the sun again rose, and so began another day.

***continued***

  



	10. Chapter Ten

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Ten**  
_Maedhros_

  
  
  


At least Maglor is speaking to me again. Though I admit, it is at times maddening, listening to him carry on about this 'love' he believes has developed between him and Earendil's sons... Still, I am glad that he is at last happy. And the Peredhil, too, seem somewhat content. I am not, as such...

Maglor told me a while ago that he had taken my advice to heart at one time, and attempted to separate himself emotionally from the Peredhil. But he told me in laughter, and in past tense, so I knew even as he spoke that the effort was already abandoned on his part. He said that they seem to love him now, in their own fashion. He actually _thinks_ that... 

I think, as I watch them interacting with each other little by little, day after day... that he may be right. 

Although, I also think that I see more than my brother does, usually. And what I see now is that this is not an entirely _good_ thing, this change in the children. Time moves rather quickly -or more accurately somewhat _inconsequentially_- for the Eldar, and as such things have suddenly come to my attention that seemingly mere moments before were not there. Little... _oddities_. Like the way that the Peredhil do not object, ever, to anything anymore... and the way that they agree, thoughtlessly, always, to everything. 

I believe Maglor has noticed, but is denying what he knows to be true. I deny nothing. They are not well, I think, even if for a time they had become better. I suppose this would be a relapse then, and it is happening with haste. 

I remember not two months ago, literally bumping into the children as they were running down the hall, and accidentally crashed against my legs. I had seen them beforehand and stopped my pace, but their eyes were closed in giggles and they ran blindly until we collided. I did not move out of their path, judging that my body would hurt them less than the stone wall, and that they might have fewer bruises by the end of the day if someone simply suggested a mite more caution on their parts. 

They gasped in surprise as they landed on their rumps upon the floor, and froze in place once they realized whom exactly they had bounced off of. It had not occurred to me until that moment that although they had become less contentious towards my _brother_, there was still no love apparent between them and _me_. But such oversights are the price one pays for living through somebody else, as I had been living through Maglor, it seemed. 

"Peredhil," I said, rather uncomfortably, "are you all right?"

They stood up, and answered me immediately for the first time that I could remember. Me. Not Maglor, or a nursemaid, or a cook, or even a horse; but _me_. 

"Yes," one said, his cheeks flushed all the way to the points of his ears, either from his sprint or pure embarrassment I could not tell, and his voice was not laced with the same tinge of hostility I was used to detecting. 

"Sorry," the other said softly. "We did not see you." 

"Well, I had guessed as much," replied I, and felt ashamed that I had fallen immediately into a reprimanding tone, when there was so little need, and no harm done. "You two should... be more careful." I forced my tone to sound gentler, "Next time you might be hurt." 

"My backside hurts from this time, but I'm still all right," said the first so frankly that I had to laugh, even while his brother hushed him with a quick hiss. "Sorry..." the first added to his candid explanation, lowering his eyes. 

Well, I thought, it was not 'a thousand apologies, _Lord Maedhros_', but it would have to do. "No cause to be sorry," I said, "just take more care." 

They nodded, and shifted a little where they stood, as if eager for something. I allowed myself to assume they had acquired the good manners to wait to be excused from the presence of their Lord, and so I said, "Now on your way, sons of Earendil." 

Smiling at that, they ran past, leaving me with nothing more but renewed laughter in their wake. Still, it was the longest and most pleasant exchange I believe we had ever shared.

However, not more than two weeks ago, a dissimilar situation arose, which has led me to believe that things are... not right. This time I roamed into the kitchen room that I was so senselessly fond of, as I commonly did, and found that there was baking being done at an hour where usually the area would be deserted.

Of the several Elven servants bustling about, some were seated at the wooden kneading table, with the Peredhil shuffled in among them. It seemed to me at first glance that the bread makers were showing the children how to prepare something a certain way. I could not tell immediately if the Peredhil were uninterested, tired, or bored... but they definitely were not having a grand time of the lesson. Perplexed, since I myself enjoyed learning to cook at their age, I came upon the square table, and leaning over, examined the unbaked goods being readied. 

"Well..." I observed lightly, "looks like _something_, for certain." The female servants giggled plenty, but it was not their attention I was after. The barest of smiles tugged at the corner of the children's mouths, but that was their only reaction to me... or anything, really. 

"No, no, dear child... Do it this way, or else the dough will fall apart in the oven. See?" An Elven maid of particularly fair features spoke sweetly, and gave her little pupil a kiss upon his cheek along with her polite correction. "Now try you again..." She urged encouragingly. 

But the child just frowned, looking -I thought- at his mistake, and said quietly, "I'm sorry." Then tears gathered in his eyes.

The same elf cooed in sympathy and tickled the Peredhel's childishly puffy cheek with her flour-dusted finger. "There, there, my darling little helper..." She kissed his cheek again, much louder this time, trying to make him laugh, I guessed. "No need for tears now... It is such a simple thing! We can fix this easily, you and I, hmm?" 

With what seemed like great reluctance, the child looked up at his teacher. In that moment I saw as much, if not more, sadness in his gaze then I had seen during our entire ride home from Sirion, and it shocked me beyond words. I kept thinking, over _dough_ was this caused? Dough was even less than _bread_, for the love of Iluvatar! 

"It's not that..." the Peredhel said so softly that even my keen ears strained to hear as he continued. "You just remind me of my mother, before she turned into a bird and flew away," he disclosed, before ducking his head back down and despondently staring again at the table.

I heard at least four people gasp at his words... though one of them might have in fact been me. And then it was _I_ receiving the sad gaze, this time that of the Elven maid, who looked at me dolefully with her own tear-brimmed eyes. Without thinking I studied her more closely. She had long dark hair, a narrow nose, large silver eyes and high cheekbones... indeed fair. And yes, she did resemble Elwing to some degree. 

I glanced back at the child, mostly to escape the pleading stare of the maid; for if she suspected I knew of some way to help, she was bound to be sorely disappointed. I found the Peredhel was by then in tears, though he continued to prod at his work joylessly. He appeared as though he was ignoring himself, if such a feat were even possible. 

I cleared my throat, and said, "Child, you are making this poor baker feel badly. No reason she should be put to guilt simply for her pretty face, now is there?" 

"No," the child replied, looking up again. "I'm sorry," he said to her, even as more tears trailed down his cheeks. 

She covered her mouth with the white cloth of her apron, and stared back at me, even more upset than before. 

I thought then that I should just leave, but I did not. If I could force myself to slay my own kin, thrice, then I could convince this child to stop crying. "Listen here, young one," I said, and bent over double to level my face with the Peredhel, "just think of something- some_one_ else...understand?" 

He nodded. "Very well," he answered, still crying. 

"...Are you doing it?" I asked doubtfully. 

Again he nodded. "Yes," again he answered, though crying still.

I sighed, and stood up tall. Everyone had stopped their work and was standing still, watching the display. Apparently the other Peredhel had also started crying at some point, for he too sat in quiet tears, mindlessly rolling some dough. 

In a moment I was going to be the only Elf or Half-elf in the entire vicinity _not_ sobbing uncontrollably... So I did the only sensible thing, and left. 

I asked around that day, casually, and gathered that such was a common occurrence of late. Seemed that the Peredhil's personal attendants had become quite used to their charges' frequent and spontaneous bouts of depression... so much so that the servants thought nothing of recounting for me a few examples in detail.

It occurred to me that Maglor must not have known, yet. I was almost positive that if he did, he would have spoken with me about it by then. No, he likely still thought them 'improving', I decided. Though it would not be long until he noticed their strange behavior for himself. Not when they seemed to fall into tears at the barest implication of anything even remotely sorrowful. 

And sure enough, a few days later Maglor's light-hearted mood had noticeably waned. I asked him in private what was wrong, but he was not willing to speak much of anything. I took the opportunity to mention my own observances, and I told him of my conversations with the Peredhil's attendants, as well as what I had witnessed firsthand. 

And he, in his usual manner of closing his eyes to things he wished not see, completely ignored me. He had responded listlessly, "I think you are exaggerating." 

"Then why are you downcast of a sudden?" I asked. 

"Because I learned long ago not to expect anything helpful from you, but still it disappoints me," he answered, a mite tartly for my liking.

I said to him, "I have helped you in more ways than you know, brother." Then I left. 

But even after that, Maglor and I still spoke regularly. For whatever reason, that particular exchange of ours did not fall into the category of 'argument', and he was not left angry with me afterwards... probably because I had allowed him to keep his illusions that the children were still bettering. 

So, as I continue to watch my brother now and again, doing this or that with the children, I have grown weary. By day Maglor pretends all is well, acting normal and cheerful. But by night he does not sleep. I see him leave the Peredhil's room after putting them to bed, and his face is ever riddled with concern. Frequently he sits in his study, or in the library, or on some balcony or another, and he worries. I wager he worries as much for them as I do for him. 

It is time, I decide, to go have another chat with Earendil's sons. And this time I mean to keep my temper about me, whether they choose to answer my questions or not.

Maglor has already left them for the night, but I hear from the hallway outside of their room that they are still awake. Soft, boyish singing filters through the thick wooden door, and I am lulled for a moment into listening. It is one of Maglor's songs, without a doubt, and they sing it well; _very_ well... Heavens, but they are indeed Melian's kin! The song ends, trailing away like so much of a whisper on the wind, and I find myself lonely in the gloom of the hall without the fair melody, and I long for another tune. But none does come. I think they probably know I am here, standing by their door and waiting for them to make some kind of beautiful noise. Mayhap I could be more mannerly than this, and announce my presence as would be proper... 

Softly I knock on the door, determined that this visit will not be like the last ones. 

With an objecting creak of aged wood, the door slowly parts by only a few inches. I look down at the small Elf-boy's face wedged between the narrow opening, peering up at me, and I smile. He blinks a few times before disappearing to pull the door completely open. I imagine it takes most of his strength to do so, and I can actually hear his feet scampering on the floor as he struggles in the effort. 

As I am given full view of the room, I see the other twin is sitting cross-legged in the middle of one bed, which sits in the corner of the room to my left, the mattress' length adjacent to the far wall where a large window faces me directly. From his spot, the second twin is watching me with an unreadable expression, and he is doing it as meticulously as always. The first child reappears from behind the door, and props it open with a book that I bet weighs nearly as much as he does. He joins his brother on the opposite side of the room, but stays near the foot of the bed instead of climbing on top. 

I ask in my most polite tone, "May I come in?" 

They do not look at each other, as they used to do instead of answering me, and the one on the bed answers; "Yes, if you like."

I walk in, leaving the door open behind me. "And may I sit down?"

The standing twin answers timidly, "Yes."

I see a chair placed by the windowsill, and think to pull it closer to the bed... but after consideration, I decide that I have no desire to impose on their space any more than I am already. 

I sit myself down in the chair, and look for a moment out of the window at the night sky. The moon is a mere sliver of bright pearl above; thus the stars shine ever so brightly in the freedom from any other veiling light. I am mesmerized by the random perfection of glittering wonders that is the star-speckled sky for longer than I intended, and turn back to the children half-expecting to find them gone. 

But nay, for there they sit, both of them now on the bed, watching me with that matching gaze I have come to detest. The two of them, side by side, are twice the amount of reminder I need; of Sirion, of the Silmarils, of Maglor... But it is not their fault, I suppose, that they remind me of things both terrible and beloved, forever lost and always just beyond my reach. Perhaps then it is not _my_ fault that I probably remind them of their own pains and regrets.

In that case, we should be friends. Or at least, other than enemies... Maybe we are already, less than friends but not enemies, and I simply have yet to notice.

"So," I say softly, "how are you, Peredhil?" 

They have been blinking rather sluggishly, and I am reminded that it is past their usual bedtime. "Tired..." one says, and the other nods drowsily, adding, "Father-Maglor told us to rest plenty for a long day tomorrow." 

I cannot help but cringe. I remember when they began calling my brother 'Father-Maglor'... and I would not care one bit except that Maglor himself _instructed_ them to do so. That poor fool... Does he not realize that there is no great accomplishment in gaining the title if he appointed it to himself? The point is to _earn_ the name 'father', or so Maglor once told me. But apparently he decided he earned it well enough at some point, and simply informed the Peredhil that it was time the official confirmation of him as their parental figure become practiced in everyday speech. Which would be acceptable, if not for the fact that the children agree to anything at all these days!

"Ah, yes... Maglor told me about a very special event he has scheduled for you three." I reply, attempting to sound interested. And oh indeed, Maglor did tell me about this brilliant scheme of his, quite extensively. If I believed his implications, this trip will solve everything, and he will ride home with two smiling, healthy and happy Half-elves who will have completely forgotten about the morning not two years ago when they awoke in Sirion to the dying screams of their butchered townsfolk. But if I believed the bare facts, I would understand that Maglor means to take Earendil's sons out camping for a few days, in the hopes that it might lift their miserable spirits.

"Are you... excited?" I ask them, trying still and I think failing to sound even remotely interested. 

"About what?" the twin who opened the door asks hollowly. 

"The surprise Maglor has planned that we were just talking about," I answer with strained calm, unable to tell if he is toying with me or not. 

"Oh... very well," the same child replies, without any change in tone to indicate comprehension.

I wait for more, but none comes. The twin who has not spoken is just staring straight ahead, and I realize with confusion that he is not looking at me after all; he probably never was, and I wonder by the blank expression on his face if there is _anything_ he sees. "Children..." I begin, and falter. This is... quite strange. "What is wrong?" I ask, at a loss for anything more subtle or articulate. 

They look at me, or I think they do, since their eyes seemed to flinch at my words, and the one who had been silent utters in a tone so pitiable I could almost weep, "We know not." 

That could not have been the same voice I heard singing so sweetly only moments ago. Not that frail whisper of defiled innocence that just echoed weakly from the mouth of the youth before me. "Why not?" I persist, "_How_ not? If you know not what is the matter, who else could?" 

"Maybe mother would know," the first child says, a faint hint of hope coloring his childishly simple words. 

"Mother was always sad too," the second one replies wistfully, "she could not fix it either." 

I become angry, regretful and ashamed all at once, leaving me swirling in confused and conflicting emotions. "So you are sad," I think out loud, and glance around their ample room. I see toys, games, books and decorations among other things... I know they have plenty of lovely clothing folded away, and I know they would be fed anything they pleased if they would but _eat_, and I know Maglor would do or have done whatever they asked... My eyes make their way back to the children, and frustration takes command of me as I behold them. They are a matching set of beautifully unmarred children with perfect little voices for singing and laughing and perfect little bodies for dancing and running... but they could not care less. They might as well be baby Orcs or Balrogs; then they could be just as unhappy while someone more deserving of such good fortune could enjoy being blessed with their pretty faces and princely gifts instead.

"But you have everything." I breathe hard. "And still you are unhappy?" 

They glance around the room for themselves, slowly, disinterestedly, their eyes eventually coming again to me... This time they study me with thoroughness, and there is no mistaking that it is me at whom they look. 

"You have everything except one hand," the second child says thoughtfully, with his brother asking in sheer innocence, "Are you happy?" There was that same tinge of hope in his voice, as if I may possess a phial of some infallible medicine that I might share with him and cure his sorrow. 

I tremble for a moment in bitter resentment, holding onto the armrest with my left hand to keep myself from using it for some ill purpose or another. It is true. I have everything I could wish for, just as they; fine clothes, plenty of servants, my fortress, my land, a small army... except for missing one hand and that I may come and go as I please, we are equally matched in our commodities. Yet I am haunted by the horrors of my past, and thus I am no happier than they, who suffer great pains of their own. When all is considered, and I feel relatively composed, I speak again.   
"When you address me, you should say 'my Lord'. It is only polite. Understand?" 

The first child nods, any animation that had surfaced in his eyes during our conversation sunk back down. "Yes, my Lord," he answers torpidly, and his brother slumps in the shoulders and stares back at the nothingness of empty space. 

"And you? Understand?" I ask pointedly, looking squarely at the quieter twin. 

He comes back from his study of air to meet my gaze, and nods. "Yes, my Lord," he repeats in the same lifeless tone as his brother, his dull eyes drifting away once more.

I breathe deeply, and think. There is... no choice here, where before I thought it was otherwise. They are not pretending to grieve. They are not trying to be inconsolable. They are not faking desperation, forcing themselves to starve or mourning with intention. This is despair. This is heartache... They are fading.

In the beginning, the very start of this all, the Peredhil were so frightened that they did not speak a word, even amongst themselves, and hardly moved a muscle on their own determination. Then, gradually, they overcame their fears, and that is when the struggles began... when they would hide from their caretakers, refuse to participate or cooperate, and make considerably successful _escapes_. And then came the time but months ago, when they seemed to become somewhat content in their life here. Maglor taught them how to ride horses, read, and write... and what impressively quick learners they were! Though I would not have referred to them as joyful, but they certainly seemed better. And now... now...

Now there they sit. Beyond disputations, beyond contentment, beyond awareness... beyond trying to save themselves by escaping, beyond trying to survive by submitting. 

I cannot tell if they are asleep at this moment, or merely... _dazed_, but I know this bodes ill. For both the Peredhil and Maglor; and hence, for me.

"Peredhil?" I question quietly. 

"Yes, my Lord..." one slurs, but they remain so still that I know not which actually spoke. 

I sigh. "Just Maedhros, would be fine. You may call me Maedhros."

"Yes, Maedhros..." he murmurs. I did not mean for him to repeat it back to me, but he seems not to mind, doing whatever he is told. That in itself I find unbearably disturbing. I never imagined I would think so, but I actually _miss_ the times when they would fuss against my will. At least then I knew that they were... alive. 

"You two should go to sleep." I stand, and realize that I just woke them up in order to tell them to go to sleep. Sighing, I attempt to regain some self-respect, "I mean, you should get under the covers." 

The Peredhel who answered me most recently, the same one who opened the door, shakes his brother to animation. They exchange a mere glance between them, but no words, and both turn to try and pull down the covers which they also happen to be sitting on. I feel a grin pulling on my mouth. Amrod and Amras used to do the same thing in their youth, when I would stay up late with them, telling stories or just talking with each other... I miss my brothers. I miss simpler times and happier days.

"I had twin brothers, you know," I comment, coming without thought to the bed. Losing for a moment any mindfulness of keeping my distance, I help the children get under their blankets and proceed to situate the covers up to their chins, just as I used to do with my youngest siblings. In fact, until the Peredhil are lying down and looking up at me, I do not think I was aware of any difference between them and my brothers. I believe I must be tired, to have such a bizarre regression. 

As Earendil's sons gaze at me, their faces expressionless, their eyes sightless, I suddenly feel guilty. I look for a moment upon them, the way their coal black hair is mingled and splashed on the pillows, and the way they seem so small, even under several layers of fabric. I have seen these children in fear, anger, indifference and contentment... but I have never seen them so insensible. I hear myself speak in an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry that I kept you awake for so long..." 

"I'm sorry for your brothers," the quieter one says, surprising me.

"How did you know they were dead?" I ask, truly curious. 

"I saw them killed in the fight," he answers, just as apathetically as he spoke before. 

I catch my breath before it can make a hiss. "Thank you," I force myself to reply. I remind myself that he is trying to be amicable, after all... or at least I think he is, though perhaps he is only saying what he guesses I want him to say. It is impossible to tell for certain. 

"I'm sorry we're so sad all of the time," the more talkative twin injects. His tone is different than his brother's, I am noticing. When he speaks it seems as if he is trying to make things sound better than they are. Or another way to put it would be that he is feigning ignorance of anything being wrong. But he does not fool _himself_, for there is unmistakable grief in his voice, even if he strives to mask it from others. 

"I think that is not your fault," I reply evenly. 

"Maybe it will get better," he says, trying so very hard to imitate that hopeful edge, though not quite hitting the note.

"Maybe," I play along, for no notable reason other than I do not particularly wish to see him or his brother cry before I leave. "Sleep well, sons of Earendil the Mariner and Elwing the Fair. May your dreams sail peacefully at Sea." 

Only the twin who had most recently spoken is still awake, but he does smile appreciatively, and nod. I did not miss the wetness gather in the corner of his eyes when I mentioned his parents, but I also know of nothing to do about it. So I bite my tongue, and leave. 

Tomorrow is another day. And... maybe they _will_ get better...

And maybe I will wake up tomorrow in Valinor, bathed in the light of the Two Trees, with father, grandfather, mother, all of my brothers and the Silmarils sitting beside me. 

  


***continued***

  



	11. Chapter Eleven

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Eleven**  
_Maedhros_

  
  
  


I told him! I told that fool more than once, and in several different ways, all with varying angles of momentousness and subtlety... But did he listen to me? No! Though have I ever been wrong in the past? No! Did I have any reason to purposefully mislead him? No! 

_Maglor, you poor fool... I love you more than my own life. Can you not see why this kills me? The way you are so conveniently blind, the way you are so ignorantly optimistic, the way you are so unbelievably shocked. Shocked that I'm exasperated with you now. And well of course I am! How could I not be? You've _hurt_ me, Maglor! And I think I will never be strong enough to tell you so. I would not accept your apology any more than I could bear your pity._

As Maglor speaks, I must make a conscious effort to keep quiet, and remain stable. I want to _shake_ him, but I know that would not help. The damage is already done, between my brother and I, and to the Peredhil. Their health has deteriorated and their depression has deepened, as my brother 'confides' in me now. As if this is news to me! 

Spite it all. In his voice and on his face I see that Maglor is genuinely concerned for the children of whom he speaks... Well, everyone is concerned, certainly. Earendil's sons are diminishing. It is as if they were apparitions from the start, never really here at all... and now before our very eyes, they are fading away. And Maglor has just assumed, I suppose, that he is the only one who has noticed. 

I cannot help but wonder, as Maglor goes on with his speech, what exactly he thought I was _talking_ about all those times I spoke with him on this same subject. Did he allow himself to imagine that just because I left him in peace with his delusions of normalcy that he was actually _right_? It must be so. I decide, once he finally stops talking long enough to breathe, that I will not bring up the past in this case. It would not do my brother, or I, or the Peredhil, any good. All that matters now is that Maglor is finally seeing things as they truly are... 

Although, eventually I cannot help but become rankled in addition to insulted, and without granting myself leave I begin adding in little comments that I know for a fact will infuriate my brother. I feign small gasps of surprise, and add short exclamations such as, 'Oh you suppose?' or 'You don't say...'   
Ah yes. I know form centuries of experience that in short time Maglor will become just as aggravated as I. Perhaps later I might feel badly for intentionally trying to wound my brother as he has _un_intentionally wounded me... But for now, I am enjoying the budding blush burning his cheeks as I mock him so openly.

Maglor finishes at last, with; "I fear that they are irreversibly afflicted; by Sirion's destruction, by their parents' absence... And Maedhros, I just know not what to do anymore..." 

I put my hand to my chest, as if about to swoon. "But I thought they loved you now?" I ask as unbelievingly as I can manage. 

Obviously making an attempt to ignore my provocation, Maglor responds; "I, too, thought they did, in their own fashion. But now... now..."

I cannot help but laugh out loud. Maglor, Maglor... will he never learn? Surrender is not defeat. Submission is not approval. Tolerance is not love!

My brother releases a scowl he has probably been building up inside of himself since I first began to pester him, and at his grimace I have to laugh even more. I wonder how sweet _Maglor_ will deal with the overwhelming urge to break something, for a change... I know for a fact that fair Maedhros handled it not so easily at all.

Before my brother or I can add to each others' infuriation, a servant enters the chamber, carrying Earendil's sons. Excellent: _bait_. "Ah!" I cry cheerfully, "And here are the little darlings now!" I go immediately to the nursemaid and remove the Peredhil from her somewhat reluctant arms. "_My_," I remark in forced awe, "but how _little_ they have grown!" I glance at Maglor, now storming towards me, to make sure he is paying attention. I am met with the most vindictive glower I have ever received from any of my own blood, so naturally I continue, with a voice dipped in the bitterest of honeys; "Whatever _haven't_ you been feeding them?" I chirp. Maglor's ears are now completely crimson, and again I laugh, putting down the children as I regain composure. 

Very much to my utter surprise, as soon as the Peredhil are out of my grasp and I am only half-way standing straight, I am met with the most violent back-handed slap I have ever received from _anyone_. Even through the stinging pain of his hand, I am loathe to believe, to _accept_, that it was actually Maglor who hit me. But as I stare back into his eyes, his satisfied and remorseless eyes, I know it is so. 

"_Never_..." Maglor snarls at me, hesitating only to grate his teeth, "_never_ again disrespect them with your bitter sarcasm or petty insults." 

Oh, foolish brother indeed, to hurt me repeatedly, then continuously _tempt_ me so to hurt him back! Does he not know that I can be ruthless too? Does he think I will not _defend_ myself? 

"Or _what_?" I bark, closing in one stride the short distance between us. I take control of Maglor's head by his hair, and force him to look down at the Peredhil, now huddled together and watching my brother and I apprehensively. "They are not your sons, Maglor," I sneer. "They are not even your friends." I hate the sound of my own angry voice, and I hate that I might be hurting my brother with my own hand, and I hate that it has come to this... but he _must know_! Once and for all he must understand how he has wronged me, how he has fooled himself, and how he has forsaken _us_! For _them_!

I twist Maglor's hair until he faces me again. "But _I_ am your brother...! Your only last living _brother_!" I pull him into my arms, embracing him as tightly as I ever have. "I am your brother of flesh and blood, and I do love you unconditionally." I let him go, and take a step back, steeling myself for what I must still say. "Yet you would strike me, who loves you and expresses as much in proclamation and deed? You would strike me who is your brother and honors you devoutly, because of them? You would strike me and quarrel with me over two unruly prisoners or war?" 

Maglor is silent for several long minutes. If the turmoil in his eyes is any indication, I wager he has just realized exactly what it is he has done. 

"I... forgive me. I was so angry, but... it was wrong to strike you. Please, forgive me," he says at last, a quiver in his beautiful voice, and hesitation in his words, as if they do not do his meaning justice. 

Forgive him? Ah yes. I can forgive him. I _shall_ forgive him. I _do_. **Me**. But not them. Never them. "Aye, brother mine. I forgive you." I feel a burning behind my eyes, and my lips curl in grief more than a smile. "But they...?"I point down at the children, at _Maglor's_ children who will never be mine and who will never be _ours_. "They never will. I wish you could see that." 

That is all I can say, all I can endure... So I leave. I always leave. But retreat is not defeat, either, and I will be back. This is far from over.

  


***continued***

  



	12. Chapter Twelve

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Twelve**  
_Maglor_

  
  
  


It has occurred to me that I am prone to obsessions.   
It is no secret now to myself or anyone else that I am undeniably enamored of these children. They can do no wrong in my eyes and I'll suffer none to speak poorly of them... my little Peredhil. 

No. They are Earendil's children. I must never forget that.  
Though he did not raise them, though I doubt they even remember him, though he will likely never see his sons again; he is still and always their Sire. But... then can I not be their Father in his stead? I know not, and I refuse to allow myself to decide. I no longer trust my own judgement. Three Kinslayings and three unrecovered Silmarils removed my faith in me long ago, and any accompanying ability of mine to do right. 

Though... Earendil's sons _are_ my kin, albeit far removed, so was it not right for me to take them in? Nay, 'twould have been right to leave them in Sirion for King Gil-galad's finding, for he is nearer kin to them than I. 

Bah! What have I to say of right and wrong. My mind drifts back to Sirion. What a dreadful day... Nay, I must not think of that. The children, then. How they always bring me cheer; their antics, their games, their wide eyes and boyish little faces.

And how very much they've changed since the beginning. I remember well, that difficult time not so long ago. How at first they were so full of fear and mourning. Then gradually their fear diminished, giving room for a kind of casual defiance, and their sorrow lulled, allowing a bit of hostility to take its place.

I struggled unhappily for a time to stop myself from caring about them; they who could not be pleased no matter how hard I tried. And they did much to earn my spurn! They were unappreciative, uncooperative, and every bit as unforgiving as any embittered Edain could be. Eventually that stage passed as well, and thankfully along with it their attempts to escape! 

For a deal of time afterwards they seemed in all aspects to be at least content, if not overtly cheerful on any occasion. They no longer fussed, nor hid, or ignored people. In fact, it came to be that they would bring themselves before their nursemaids and ask politely for naps, or snacks, or baths. And to me they would sometimes come and ask for stories, or songs, or lessons. It was a peaceful, welcome repose. We would go on walks, have picnics and ride horses together. Though we rarely spoke much, or I should say, the children rarely spoke much. But they seemed happy to listen, and I assume, learn. 

Sometimes they would ask questions of things, seldom adding any comments of their own. They spoke to each other, naturally, but only when they thought no one was listening. They even finally told me their names, or rather, they told me why they would _never_ tell me their names. 'They are all we have from mother and father,' one had said, with the other adding, 'We promised never to give them away.' 

Promised each other, I imagined. Of course, I hadn't the heart to break brotherly oaths, so never again pressed the subject. They could keep the names their parents meant for them, and I would simply give them new ones! ... Although, that didn't work. No matter how many names I tried, they would not answer to any of them... unless I said 'children', 'Peredhil' or 'sons of Earendil', they would just as soon not hear me. A last trace of defiance, perhaps, that would need more time to extinguish. 

I remain certain that someday soon they will _desire_ to be addressed by me and those in my company. It may be that they will choose their own names in time. Perhaps, with this new phase they are entering, they will be more compliant. And indeed, they are compliant... more so than ever. But it... almost seems as though their overall interest in things is fading, and along with it any remaining insurgency whatsoever. They have reverted these days to moping about, only now they cease when bid to. They do anything they are instructed to do these days. Anything at all. It is... unnatural, I think. Could it also be unhealthy? I wonder. I worry. 

My brother is no help at all anymore, if he ever was. I tried to speak of my concerns with him recently. He appeared unabashedly amused by it all. 'But I thought they loved you now?' he had said, overly aghast.   
I replied, 'I, too, thought they did, in their own fashion. But now... now...' Maedhros laughed rather coldly at my obvious turmoil. I deliberately scowled at his reaction. One of his lesser friendly moods had taken him, and for it I felt no tolerance that day.  
Any further remarks we might have made to each other were interrupted as a servant brought into the chamber Earendil's sons... I had forgotten that I sent her to fetch them earlier.  
'Ah!' my brother exclaimed with false enthusiasm. 'And here are the little darlings now!' Before I could stop him he rushed to the nursemaid and promptly took both children from her unwilling arms. '_My_, but how _little_ they have grown!' he continued cheerily. The twins looked scared and I moved quickly to remove them from Maedhros' foul mood. 'Dear brother, whatever _haven't_ you been feeding them?' He laughed again and set the children down ungently, finished with mocking them.  
The second I was near enough I slapped him as hard as I could across the face whilst only using the back of my hand. He recovered soon enough and stared back at me, clearly and honestly astonished by my action. The children, meanwhile, fled into each other's arms, and remained thus, visibly shaking with alarm as they watched my brother and I.  
'Never...' I warned, and so great was my ire that I needed to collect my breath, '_never_ again disrespect them with your bitter sarcasm or petty insults.' I could actually feel the blood pumping through the veins in my temple.  
'Or _what_?' Maedhros leapt at me, taking the back of my head by the hair with his remaining hand. He forced me to look at the twins, though not so roughly that I stopped him. 'They are not your sons, Maglor. They are not even your friends.' Next he forced my face to meet his again. 'But _I_ am your brother...! Your only last living _brother_!' Very unexpectedly, he pulled me into a firm embrace. 'I am your brother of flesh and blood, and I do love you unconditionally.' He released me, stepping away once, his expression hardened with careful control. 'Yet you would strike me, who loves you and expresses as much in proclamation and deed... You would strike me who is your brother and who honors you devoutly, because of them? You would strike me and quarrel with me over two unruly prisoners of war?'  
I was stunned silent for a moment. I had never struck my brother before. Nor any of my other brothers, if memory serves... well, perhaps Caranthir in retribution, but certainly never Maedhros for any reason. 'I... forgive me. I was so angry, but... it was wrong to strike you. Please, forgive me.'   
Maedhros looked oddly pleased, though not maliciously so. 'Aye, brother mine. I forgive you.' He smiled, sadly. 'But they...?' he pointed down at the twins, 'They never will. I wish you could see that.' 

With nothing more, he left. 

That was long ago. I have not seen Maedhros for some time now. I miss him. Even if his usually infrequent cruel moods had become regrettably more recurrent over the centuries. He is, after all, my only brother now, and I know that he does indeed love me... perhaps he is the only one who still does, who always will. 

Suddenly I am disturbed from my reflections by a small body crawling into my lap. At first I wonder wildly why the child did not announce himself from the doorway like usual, but then realize that in my motionless state of deep thought, he probably took me for sleeping. 

He curls under my arm, in a way he has never done before on his own determination. I risk a glance downwards, wishing not to disturb his peace. If he thinks me asleep and is so comfortable with it, I have no desire to change his mind. He stares into the fire before us, attentively watching the flames dance about, as he so likes to do. It is strange, but though I _still_ get them confused with each other sometimes, even such a small trait as the way one watches a fire distinguishes him apart from his twin. This is the one I tried unsuccessfully to name Lomdil, if I am correct. I thought it was so befitting... but he simply never answered to it. 

I see a twinkle in his eye... is it simply reflection from the firelight, or...? "Where is your brother?" I ask him softly. His brother I tried naming Mirhil, also to no avail. 

The little one who-will-not-be-called-Lomdil sniffs, and a single tear slides down his pale cheek. "He will not wake up." 

A gasp escapes me before I can stop myself. As any parent, or would-be parent in my case, I cannot help but immediately assume the worst. He is dead. My little Peredhil who-would-not-be-called-Mirhil is dead... and his poor brother was the first to discover him thus. How sad, how terrible... 

I steel my nerve and ignore the erratic pounding of my heart. "Oh?" I must swallow to say more. "Where is he?" 

The child not named Lomdil shrugs and wipes another tear from his eye. "In the library, where all of his favorite books are kept. You cannot wake him up though; I already tried." 

I bite my tongue. Then harder. "Well..." what can I say? I must go to Mirhil, but I cannot bring Lomdil with me, in the event that his brother truly is lying dead... "Perhaps I shall bring him in here then. He can sleep on the fur in front of the fire, and thus be with us as well." Yes, there. Then if Mirhil _is_ dead, I shall send a nursemaid back here in my place, and she can keep Lomdil occupied until-- until what? Until I find a replacement twin brother for him? Ai, what a predicament is this! 

Lomdil shakes his head sadly. "But he is sleeping on the window sill, watching the stars above. He does not love fire... He said we should all look to something we love, when we are feeling very lonely, like mother used to do, and it will hurt less... Then he fell asleep, and now I am so tired too." He yawns, my heart stopping until he finishes to take another breath. Then he looks up at me with sleepy blue-gray eyes, brimming with unshed tears. "Would I find my brother in my dreams if I slept now?" 

"No!" I cry, then add with forced calmness, "No, you would not. Stay well awake." I stand, lifting him up with me, and he rests his head atop my shoulder... normally he would only do so if I leaned it there for him, and I fear his reasons now are brought on by weariness and not affection. "Wake...!" I shake him, possibly harder than I ought. "You must guide me to your brother. Do not sleep." 

He looks at me strangely, then shrugs and begins explaining the way. I make him repeat the directions several times... as many times as it takes until we are to the library, and I trust Lomdil will keep himself awake in order to see his brother. 

When we enter, the quiet is not lost on me. I am a mighty Elf-lord, who has for centuries honed my inherently keen Elven senses to potentially life-saving perfection... but I cannot hear Mirhil's breathing from just across the room. I stop my own lungs to listen, but the gentle rhythm of Lomdil's breaths is all I make out. I clear my throat to attract his attention, and set him down. 

"I wish to go sit with your brother a moment. Please..." please keep your body moving and think of things other than sleep, lest you die...? What should I say? "Please play with something a while." Ai, that was pitiable. "Ah, here!" I place him in a chair at my desk and hand him a quill, setting out a piece of blank parchment. "Draw a picture, hm?" I hastily light every candle nearby, so his Half-elven eyes can better see in the dim. He is already thoughtfully at work when I turn and walk to the window Mirhil has always favored. 

I sit down beside him on the stone sill, carved smooth to serve as a sitting bench. Mirhil often lounges here while reading, though I have never before seen him as he is now; lying on his back, a book under his head, staring with unfocused eyes at the starry night sky. My head bows on accident, and I hope Lomdil was not watching. I wish him not to think me concerned... but there is no way around that now, is there? I bend down, placing an ear on Mirhil's narrow chest. To my utter exhilaration, his heart does beat. He yet lives. I release a sigh of relief.   
"Son of Earendil," I sing softly whilst gently shaking him, "Come back now awake, Peredhel." He makes no movement. Absentmindedly I run my fingers through his silky black hair, cascading over each shoulder, and wonder why he removed the braids he wore this morning. "Wake, little one," I shake him again, harder this time, my voice also more urgent in tone. No reaction. 

I turn in frustration, meaning to summon Lomdil over to us. Perhaps if we both call upon Mirhil--   
But now Lomdil is also still, bent over the desk with his head resting atop one arm. His face is turned towards me, and I can see his eyes are staring without seeing at one particularly large candle, burning brightly. 

Now I cannot hear him breathing, either. 

Carefully, so very carefully, I compose myself. It takes several deep breaths, but at last I am confident that I will not cry. I will not cry. I must not cry. 

I take Mirhil up in my arms, then the equally insensible Lomdil, and determinedly make my way to the Healers Ward. 

They will know what to do. 

And if they do not, I may lose my mind, and slay them all. 

  


***continued***

  



	13. Chapter Thirteen

  
  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Thirteen**  
_Maglor_

  
  
  


I watch the dreadful scene before me with all my might -meaning perhaps through my insistent stare to somehow _will_ the children to live- while my helpless hands twitch nervously at my sides, as the senior nursemaid and her assistant treat their patients in the washing basin. Using a clay pitcher, they douse the twins alternatively in cool and then hot water, all the while rubbing their limbs vigorously. The children lie as quiet and motionless during the process as they had laid moments ago atop a sick bed, whilst the same Healers examined them at my orders. 

'They have fallen into despair,' the apprentice had said then, in a tone of voice suggesting I should have already known as much. And perhaps I did, but that was at the time entirely besides the point.   
I grasped unknowingly for the hilt of my sword, forgetting I did not carry it indoors. "Can you bring them back?"   
The assistant backed away from me, stiff with apprehension, and the senior nursemaid spoke up in her place. 'We will certainly try, Lord Maglor. I have seen it accomplished before, successfully, and with an orphan as well, no less.' Her eyes turned remorseful. 'Though I have also seen the attempt fail, when the mind was already too far-gone. But let us hope that only the bodies of these two are now unresponsive, and within their hearts the will to endure yet remains. For young flesh is easily stimulated, but not so simply is the desire to live instilled.'   
I nearly broke then, but settled for shouting. 'And before this said practice of rejuvenation, is it commonplace to stand about speaking of action and reminiscing of the past while the Despairing lie more still than in death?'   
The Healers were immediately a blur of motion; sputtering apologies to me and hissing orders at each other. 

Which swiftly led us here, an annexed wash room in the Healers Ward. The scent of basting herbs is pungent in the air, and I know not if that or stark worry is causing the sickness in my stomach. 

A prepared concoction of some sort is now being coerced down the children's throats. It smells to me of warm and fruity alcohol, though I cannot be sure why liquor would be administered in this case. And I care not; I only hope it works. I _pray_ it works.   
_Please... Iluvatar, Valar, do not abandon them. Show them another way, offer them hope, grant them happiness... Save them. Spare them. Be merciful, have pity... please. _  
I turn away at once, disgusted with myself. Who am I to pray for such things... things that... that cannot simply be dealt away or handed over. 

Or can they? 

I think on this, and like not what I conclude. 

I ask for nothing that I myself cannot provide. I can show them another way -_salvation_- I can offer them hope -_rescue_- I can grant them happiness -_freedom_-   
I saved them in Sirion because of mercy, spared them out of pity.   
Then it is final: I know what I must do... if only it is not already too late. 

I turn back to face the room, a few new lines of sorrow no doubt creasing my face. And the children, to my relief and surprise, have responded to the life-preserving ministrations of their caretakers by waking! Someone pushes by me, but so distracted am I that I think not twice about it. Someone else steps on my foot in the bustling commotion of the room, and that too bothers me little; in fact I hardly even feel the near-weightless Elven-foot walking over mine. 

All my attention is bent on the two now crying children across the way. They seem impossibly far from me, and I so wish that I could hold them in my arms... I wish they would want me to. 

I see one of them try to get out of the tub, but he is gently forced to stay, and seems temporarily discouraged. I am hard pressed to keep myself in place, and not charge to his side and provide whatever he desires. He recovers his determination and struggles to get out again, making numerous tries, his best efforts repeatedly thwarted. 

The other twin is crying louder of the pair... I think it is his own way of struggling physically, instead of his brother's method of testing his strength against half a dozen grown elves who could each easily restrain him one-handed.

The din is almost ear-shattering. At first I internally agreed with the treatment being administered, but... has it not gone on for long enough? They are well revived, after all. The children both wail and fuss now, trying equally as hard to get away, to get out. I can see even from across the room where I stand, logically out of the way, that their flesh is reddened from friction and the varying exposure to extreme heat and contrasting cool.

I cringe. The Healers are not being rough, or unkind, and they do not act unnecessarily... But... for how much longer must this continue? 

One Peredhel spots me for the first time, and his brother immediately after him. They cease crying for one crucial second as they examine each other's faces, and the next thing to happen I cannot believe. 

They each stretch both arms fully extended, reaching towards me, and call out as one, "Maglor! Maglor!" 

I know not exactly what their plea did to me, but the next thing I know I hold them both in my arms, and they are busily burying their faces in the folds of my tunic, still crying, but now in relief. I turn to take them to their room, no, to _my_ room, and the next sight which meets me I also cannot believe. 

One of the Healers is crumpled against the farthest wall, a nurse on either side of him. He looks mostly stunned, possibly mildly injured as well. All the others present are huddled together well away from me, with mixed expressions of fear and panic. 

What happened? 

From the looks on the Healers' faces, I would wager even they do not know. I vaguely recall pushing someone out of my way... could that have been the dazed one there? I cannot now be sure. 

Well, time is wasting. Before I am out of the room, I lock eyes with one servant who has always been particularly quick to appease my errands. "Bring fruit, bread and milk to my room right away." I continue to leave without waiting for an answer, but pause just beyond the door. "And... something sweet for the children as well," I add, thinking of a special treat for Earendil's sons, something with which to coax them into eating more. I know the servant heard my demands, and since I have no reason to assume he will not do as I say, I continue on my way. 

This time I do not care if any passing-by elf witnesses me carrying two naked and soaking wet Peredhil back to my chamber. I care not at all. 

All the while, the children cling to me gladly. They are indeed bright, for they have apparently learned well in our time together that I will protect them in any case, against anyone. 

Once in my room, I move to set the children down... Is it my imagination or are they hesitant to let go...? But they do, and I straighten, examining them both with deliberately nonjudgmental eyes, not meaning to make them uncomfortable. 

The one usually more vocal of the two speaks first, nearly a whisper. "The last thing I remember was sitting at your desk, watching the candle burn..." 

His brother looks at neither I nor his twin when he speaks for himself. "The last thing I remember was looking at the stars..." 

I have no words of comfort for them. Looking at their frail bodies and sad gazes, I find myself wondering if even such an invigorating treatment as the one just given would work to revive them a second time. No, I remind myself; it must not come to that again. They both stare up at me after a moment, and I fear that they may somehow read my gloomy thoughts, so quickly I change my line of thinking. 

"Well now, just look at the two of you." They do so, inquisitively. "Dripping wet and naked as the day you were born!" I gasp, "How indecent." They both blush pink in embarrassment -one even giggles!- and I smile, losing the teasing edge in my voice as I continue, "Here, let me fetch you some towels." 

I go to a linen closet adjoined to my bedroom to do so, also thinking to take two undershirts of mine to lend the children for wear. When I return, a table is already set with the foodstuffs I requested. The servant who delivered the meal is waiting patiently by the door. 

When he sees me he bows deeply and speaks with mild worry, "Is there anything else you require, Lord Maglor?" 

I look around. The twins are no where to be seen, and I suspect long gone by now. I sigh and wave the servant away in dismissal. "No, thank you. On your way." 

He nods and makes haste of his departure. I sigh again and fall into one of the chairs at my table, feeling like all the world is slipping away from me. It could still fall into place, even now... it could still _work_, if only... But no. No. It is over. 

Suddenly a moving shadow catches my eye. In surprise I instinctively reach for my still-absent sword-- but then nearly fall out of my seat in shock. The shadow is the twins, crawling out from underneath my bed. I had thought them fled again! They gather themselves up casually as can be and come right over to me. 

I scramble to my knees, clumsily unfolding the linen in my hands, and dry them off. Then I drop a shirt over each of their heads, realizing belatedly that I need to help them find the armholes. When we finally have everything sorted out, so oversized are the shirts that the sleeves nearly touch the floor, and those I must roll back and tie. 

Without even thinking I put each child in a chair opposite me, then pour them milk and serve them cakes and cherries. It seems completely natural when I seat myself again that we three begin eating together. Only after we finish do I realize that it is the first meal we have shared in accord and peace, even during all this time. 

After several minutes of me simply staring at them lost in thought, and they silently questioning my odd conduct with curious eyes, I bring myself to stand.   
"Well, time for your lessons, I think. What is it first today, riding again?" I dearly wonder why they look at me so. 

"It is not yet morning," the normally quieter one, who seems no longer so quiet, says. 

His brother points helpfully to an open window, displaying the starry night sky, and I do not blame him for treating me like an imbecile. "So it is... not," I say stupidly. 

The twins exchange humored glances, then yawn at the same time. I feel my muscles tense, fearful of what they might say next. 

"May we please go to sleep?" the one who was previously the most verbal of the pair says. Wait, have I just gotten them confused again? 

"Well..." I stammer, struck dumb by the hopeful, pleading, sleepy gaze of Earendil's sons. What can I do, _refuse_ them rest? They must sleep as well as eat in order to be healthy... but they must not fall again into the same comatose slumber that took them mere hours ago! What a dilemma... what to do? Think, Maglor, think! They have eaten now, so that is a positive difference, and their mood seems fairly blithe, which is good, plus I will not leave them alone. Perhaps all of that is enough to assure they sleep in a normal, safe state. 

"Very well." I smile. "Time for bed then." 

I know not immediately how to react as they walk to me and raise their arms straight above-head. On a guess, I pick them up, and whether from pending exhaustion or some newfound affection, they melt into me, slumping on each of my arms and against my shoulders like little sacks of sand. I suspect the former possibility as the true cause for their behavior, but allow myself to believe the latter. 

I carry them to my bed, plenty spacious enough for the three of us, and lay us down upon it. I, too, am quite tired suddenly. The last thing I see is that both children are fast asleep, their eyes lightly closed, and their sweet breath coming in gentle, deep pulses... 

Then I force my mind to forget the terrible truth of what I must do in the morrow. 

For tonight, I may still hold these two children, these little Peredhil whom I would joyfully have raised as my own, and pretend that they are mine. 

  
  
  


***continued***

  



	14. Chapter Fourteen

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Fourteen**  
_Maedhros_

  
  
  


Before me is a sight that I consider one of particular strangeness. Two servants are walking down the hall, towards me but not _to_ me. One carries the Peredhil's blanket that used to be Maglor's, and the other has a tray of foodstuffs. I hold up my hand, and try for a disarming smile. "Greetings, Ronecuir and Faelloi. Where are you headed?" 

They nod in acknowledgement of me, their arms too full for actual bows, and each waits for the other to answer. They exchange slightly annoyed glances with each other, wordlessly sparring for the right to remain silent. Eventually, Faelloi gets the better of herself, and responds; "Hail, Lord Maedhros. We are headed to the Healers' Ward." 

"Ah." I nod. "Why?"

Faelloi averts her eyes, scanning the tray of edibles she holds, and says casually, "Well, it is time for the midday meal, my Lord." 

"Yes." I nod again. "And what is the blanket for?" 

Ronecuir gives a very small start, and blurts, "To keep one warm and cozy, my Lord." 

It was far more of a question than a statement. These two servants are from Maglor's remaining legion, and by their manner I judge they are torn between obeying their Lord Maglor's orders and the will of his brother, Maedhros Lord of Himring and-the-roof-over-their-very-heads. "Exactly whose cozy and warm noontime meal are you serving in the Healers' Ward?" If they mean to defy me, they shall do so _directly_ or not at all.

Faelloi sighs nearly without sound, and answers, "Lord Maglor's Peredhil, Lord Maedhros. They are unwell, and have been bid to remain in sickbeds under the Healers' close watch." 

So it has come to this, at long last. Sickbeds are something few elves have seen outside of wartime, and only then in the case of injury. More common it is that an elf would simply roam about with less fervor whilst recovering from wounds, instead of remaining bedridden. Unless the damage is very severe, elves heal too quickly for the need of prolonged bed rest. Unless there _is_ no healing imminent, in which case it is _release_ an elf lies in wait for, not recuperation. And that is as it is now, truly. It is not a sickbed the Peredhil lie upon, but a _death_bed; for they are not ill or injured in the sense of being temporarily disabled, but in the sense of being hopelessly beyond repair. 

"I shall accompany you," I hear myself say, even as my thoughts dwell elsewhere. Without seeing the path before me, I follow Ronecuir and Faelloi to the Healers' Ward. Once therein, I behold the children. They are lying on separate beds for no reason apparent other than that is where they were set, and they likely have neither the strength nor the will to do anything about it. They are pale, still, and feeble. They even look... _wrong_ somehow, without being side by side. 

As Faelloi arranges her tray on a small table beside one of the beds, I pass Ronecuir by and approach the other supine child. This one has his eyes open in wakefulness and is staring blankly at the ceiling. He looks at me with mild surprise, as I sit down on the bedside and bend over him, but he does not speak, and neither do I. Though I do smile as I take him into my arms and stand back up. 

"Wha-?" Ronecuir starts, but falls silent in apprehensive confusion. Faelloi stares at me with wide eyes, and I read on her face that she means to go and locate the senior Healer as soon as my back is turned to her. But I do not care. 

I cut in front of Faelloi's path to the bed nearest her, and sit down on the bedside next to the child still asleep. He stirs at the slight shift of my weight settling next to him, and blinks at me exhaustedly. I smile again, and he gathers a confused little wrinkle between his eyes. I maneuver the twin I hold to my other side, and set him down on the mattress beside his brother. The Peredhil meet each others eyes at once, the expressions on their faces matching in pleasant surprise. They each drape an arm around the other's waist, and turn to rest on opposite sides, thus facing one another. Ah yes, that is indeed much better. Mirror images they are, without a doubt...

Ronecuir stands behind me now, and I twist to take from him the blanket he brought. He hands it to me willingly, and I see in his face approval, or understanding at the least. But Faelloi is gone, probably seeking the senior Healer as I suspected. I still care not.

I turn back to the children, their eyes now lightly closed in the sleep of mortals, or Half-mortals as the case may be. I stand to unfold the blanket and cover them with it, bringing it up to their chins, just like I did not so many nights ago, before they were this... far gone. 

With a sigh I turn, only to be met with Ronecuir's questioning stare. "Are you not going to feed them as well?" he asks a mite hopefully.

I glance at the tray sitting on the table behind him. It matters not what delicacy is upon it; The Peredhil will not eat because they cannot. They would not taste the flavor of the food any more than they would benefit from its nourishment. They hardly feel anything at all besides despair. I suppose I should take heart, in that at least they do not experience in mind the hunger their bodies are going through. They do not perceive that they starve. Though I would rather they felt empty of sustenance than full of grief... 

"I shall let the Healers see to that," I answer Ronecuir, and make my way to leave. "They too should feel as though they at least _tried_." 

*******

It has been several long hours that I have remained up here. My horse is dozing a few paces off, through for now with nibbling upon the tall grasses of the glade we rest in. The sun is setting soon. No... no. It is _rising_ right this very minute. I... oh my. I shake myself to full wakefulness, realizing that I was actually quite asleep a moment ago. It has been far more than mere hours that I have dwelled here. It has been the entire _night_. Bother. 

I call my stallion, and he comes to me gladly, no doubt wondering why in the world I led us up here to sit in a field and stare at my shoes for the whole night. 

"I needed to think," I explain to him. He nickers loudly and nearly knocks me over with a rather powerful and wholly unexpected nudge. I laugh and recover my balance, then mount and bid him run home as fast as he wishes. Apparently he was _very_ much ready to depart, as he gallops down the embankment we traversed uphill yesterday evening faster than I would have advised. But I am confident in his surefootedness, and do not slow him.

We arrive back home after only a little over an hour's worth of hard riding. I dismount in the main courtyard and my stallion immediately saunters off without a second glance at me, making his way towards the stables and, I imagine, into his stall for a more peaceful nap. He is a moody one, at times. My brother used to tease me that such is the reason my horse and I get along.

Ai, Maglor... I shall go and speak with him now. This most recent change in the Peredhil's condition must be hurting him terribly... It is time we ended this unspoken vow of silence between us. He needs me, and I can no longer stand to know that he is suffering, whilst I turn my attention to everything other than his plight. We should never have quarreled with each other, and we certainly should not have held such grudges afterwards. I admit to being stubborn by nature, and in this instance Maglor acted no differently than I. But I have resolved to put right this wrong. I miss him my brother dearly, despite his flaws, and despite how he has shunned me for the Peredhil. I am willing to be considered second to Earendil's children, if it means that I may still be a priority at all of Maglor's.

I am just ascending the stairs of the citadel when I hear a shout from behind. 

"Lord Maedhros!" Someone calls, and I turn with haste. It is Ronecuir... He is running towards me at the fastest pace I wager he can manage, with the reins of my steed in his hand. My horse follows somewhat skeptically until he spots me, then assumes a more dutiful disposition. 

I reach the bottom of the stairs in a few long jumps and race to meet Ronecuir. "What has happened?" I ask even as I mount. I am positive the danger is not within the fortress itself, for Ronecuir would not have brought my horse in that case. Through my mind in a heartbeat rages a hundred thoughts, all centered on who must be attacking my stronghold at Himring, and why. 

Panting slightly, Ronecuir answers, "I saw you approaching from the north, Lord, and suspected I would find you setting your horse out in the stables..." 

"Ronecuir, just tell me what has happened!" 

He meets my steady eyes, and his are panicked. "It is your brother. He..." Ronecuir swallows hard, but his voice is no more smooth afterwards. "Lord Maglor has set the Peredhil free." 

"Curses...!" I hear myself growl. "_When_?" 

Impossibly, Ronecuir is made even more unsettled by my outbreak. "Yesterday evening, shortly after you rode out, Lord Maedhros."

"_Spite_!"

I am not shouting at Ronecuir, but rather shouting in general, and unintentionally at that. But he hastily stutters an explanation regardless. " I rode out on my own last night and tried to find you, Lord! And when I could not I even searched for the children... but... but..."

I force myself to breathe in some way other than violently sharp huffs. "Fine, fine." Through gritted teeth I compel the next words to leave my throat, "Thank you for your efforts, and for informing me." 

"Yes, Lord Maedhros, or course." Ronecuir is still holding my reins, I realize, and it will be impossible for me to leave whilst he does so. I extend my hand for him to place the leather straps upon, and he does so very slowly as he speaks further; "Please, do not tell Lord Maglor that I acted against his wishes..." he asks meekly. 

Ah. So Maglor not only meant to release the children without my knowledge, but he also bid none others seek them out and bring them back. That clever little...

"I hope you find them, Lord," Ronecuir continues shamefully, "though I loyally serve Lord Maglor and trust his judgement... of this I deem he has ruled foolishly. I have faith that you will do what is right." 

"And you fear Gil-galad without Earendil's sons to dissuade the High King's vengeance," I say before I think. I have little respect for Ronecuir. Not only has he knowingly disobeyed my brother and expects me to keep it a secret just as willingly, but he also stood well aside at Sirion, refusing to enter the fight. Such was the pandemonium of that day that he was forgiven his qualms, and my brother thus disregarded his conduct as something other than betrayal. But I never did.

Ronecuir stares at me in shock, finally managing, "I... believe we all do, Lord Maedhros." 

I eye him for only a second longer before spurring my horse onward. I found the Peredhil once, and I shall find them again. They only have a head start of half of a day, most of which was during the dark of night, and they are terribly weak regardless, not to mention traveling on foot... I will find them, no doubt.

*******

"BROTHER!" I march into the conference chamber shared by the brother and I during times of council, and exclaim, "This is an outrage!"

"It wouldn't be the first," Maglor replies, and yawns. He _yawns_! I have been searching for the Peredhil all day... I even organized a party of trackers to accompany me when I was unable to find so much as _footprints_ from the children... and there my brother sits, yawning. 

I swing my hand around the room, and continue, "They are nowhere to be found, Maglor, nowhere! What have you done?"

He smiles, replying smugly, "The first right thing in an Age. I aim to make a new habit of this, dear brother. You should try it for yourself sometime; it is quite endearing." 

Preposterous. He must not understand what this means... he still must not _see_. "Maglor," I say slowly, deliberately, determined to have his complete attention. "The border sentries said it has been hours since they passed, with your leave, I might add. And. They. Are. Gone." 

"That. Is. The. Idea." 

By Iluvatar. He knows. He knows exactly what he has done. He must not care. What _does_ he care about then? Surely not our safety, not our protection... not even the children...? My thoughts drift into words, and the concern in my voice shocks even me. "After all you did for them, Maglor, and I know you tried so very hard; why? Why did you release them now?" I reach the left hand out to Maglor, a gesture of reconciliation, _if_ he accepts it. "I thought you loved them..." I need his help now, I need him to agree to search for the Peredhil, I need him to change his mind... I need them back!

"Brother..." Maglor does not seem to notice my hand, and his voice is even more assured than before; "It is because I came to love them so much that I let them go." 

That cursed fool... I forget about his help, which I will not receive, and also about my hand, which he will not take... my only thoughts now are for the children. "We need them, Maglor. I sense dark times ahead, and they would be invaluable in the case of a war." I put all the emphasis I can on the most important words there are. "We need them."

"Gil-galad may have been discouraged from battle with us, had we held as prisoners Earendil's only sons," Maglor says thoughtfully, "but mayhap we have an equal advantage with which to abate the young King's wrath, for having spared and released his own natural heirs." 

"Perhaps and perhaps not." I must keep calm, and I regard Maglor meaningfully. There is logic in his intentions, but not in the outcome. He is considering the present, and I am considering forever. I know I am right, and I can convince him of as much... "And if those two Peredhil whom you love so much should march against us eventually, beside their King, grown mighty and terrible over long years... what then?" 

Thank Iluvatar... he is thinking about it. 

And thinking still.

He smiles. "...'Twould be a good day to die." And then he laughs.

There is some sinister beast in the distance growling dangerously at his honest words, at his sincere laughter; but the unheeded creature with its pathetic lament could not be me, since I have already left.

Again. 

  


***continued***

  



	15. Chapter Fifteen

  
  
  


**Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Fifteen**  
_Maglor_

  
  
  


I adore them. 

_You need them._

They are so humble now, so quiet and unperturbed. 

_They are insensible._

I cherish them. 

_You covet them._

They no longer complain, never argue or defy. 

_They haven't the strength._

They are precious to me. 

_They are invaluable to you._

My little Peredhil, innocent and beautiful. 

_Your little shields, prisoners and hostage-stock._

They would grow to love me in time. 

_They are not growing at all._

They call me Father. 

_You told them to._

I make them feel safe. 

_They feel nothing._

I give them everything. 

_Everything you took away._

We are a family now. 

_They are dying._

I cannot live without them. 

_They will not live with you._

If I release them, they will never return. 

_None would._

I will be all alone without them. 

_Soon you will be all alone with their corpses._

...

"Bring Earendil's sons from their sick-beds." I command, the last word tasting exceptionally foul on my tongue. 

The servant to whom I spoke is not brave enough to oppose me, but the senior nursemaid standing behind him is. 

"My Lord Maglor," she says kindly, "they are not well." 

Her tone is apologetic, her face sad and helpless. She is concerned for them. She thinks it best that they not walk, possibly not even be moved. 

"I know, and I understand," I reply. She nods, grateful for the sincerity of my words and my apparent acquiescence; until I continue. "Fetch them," I say sternly. 

She starts and stares at me with wide, unbelieving eyes...

I do not blame her surprise. If I were simply summoning Earendil's sons because I wished an audience with them, it would be cruel of me indeed, given their condition. But no... Here I have intentions of which the nursemaid in entirely unaware. 

"Do it now, please," I say softer. 

This time she truly jumps and with a quick nod is on her way. 

I sit back, and wait to see the Peredhil brought before me for the last time. 

  


I will miss them.

_They will not miss you._

I will think of them, often and fondly.

_They will have nightmares of this time, for years to come._

I wish I could have made them happy, I wish I could have been all that they ever needed.

_They wish their mother had not thrown herself into the Sea._

If I could do certain things again, I would do them differently.

_If they could jump after her, to this day they still would._

What will come of me when they are gone?

_..._

  


"Peredhil," I smile, as I cannot help but do when they are near. 

They are blinking at me sleepily, their large, matching gray-blue eyes squinting and puffy from the slumber of Half-mortals... half sickly boys, half fading elf-children... impossible, terrible, but true. 

I open my arms to them, and after a gentle nudge from the nursemaid, they muddle more than walk into my embrace. I pull them close, lifting them up onto my lap. So often I have sat with them here on my dais, one on each knee. Here I have braided their hair while listening to the mind-numbing melodrama of my subordinates, chattering on about this or that thing of 'importance'. So often here they have fallen asleep in my arms, after a day of dictating and decision-making, and I would carry them off to their bed. So often... but no more. 

"Tell me, children, were you dreaming sweetly?" 

They look at each other first to be sure. "No, father Maglor," they both answer as one. 

"I see. Perhaps another time." I sigh a long, heavy and painful breath, hearing my heart waver in its wake. "Well now, hug me tightly, children, and kiss me goodbye... then you two may be off." 

They do so, mechanically, stiffly... going through the motions but not really _feeling_ the need. They do not desire the conduct, do not long for the contact... 'tis simply what I taught them to do. Or perhaps 'twas a time when they _did_ embrace me honestly, and with a certain degree of desire, of... love. But that possibility is no longer relevant. 

Their hearts feel now only what they have lost, their eyes see only what is out of reach, their hopes lie only in things they do not have; like freedom, family and happiness. And thus, reality is to them unreal, waking is as a dream, living alike to death... They haven't long, they will not last, they will not get well; I see that now. 

Was only this morning when I woke by their side, and thought by their peacefully sleeping faces and their twenty little fingers curled securely in the locks of my hair, that perhaps, just maybe, I could keep them after all... But then their eyes opened to meet mine, and what little light had rekindled in them after their revival by the Healer's hands had already extinguished once again. I resolved then that I must do this thing, even if it kills me. 

Now as their grip loosens from my neck, I feel it very well might come to that. Will I never hold them again? Will I never even see them again? Could I bear it? 

"Very good, Earendil's sons..." I set them down hesitantly. I can still put this off... maybe just until tomorrow morning, so I might cradle them whilst they slumber once more. No, no... they are frail and weak. One more morning under my roof is something they may not wake up to see. My hands release them for the last time. 

"Now if it so pleases, be away from this place, both of you. Go wherever you will and do as you wish. I release you from my custody, and unfortunately my protection as well. But you are indeed free. Fly." 

I hear distinct gasps of surprise and sharp words of shock from everyone else in the chamber. Earendil's sons were not among them, however. 

They look at each other wordlessly and join hands, as they always do when they walk together side-by-side. "Fare thee well, father Maglor," one says. Then the other, "Goodbye, father Maglor. Wish us well." They turn and walk away, but from the threshold the first speaks again over his shoulder, just before passing out of sight... "Thank you!" 

  


They are gone.

_Never to return, as you well know._

I miss them already...

_They are happier than they can ever remember._

What if some ill fate befalls them?

_Then it also will have been your fault._

They are unwell. They may perish in the wilderness before they are ever found. 

_Yes, they certainly might._

What have I done...?

_The right thing, for the first time in an Age._

I love them so...

_And now they know it, whilst before they did not._

...

  


"BROTHER!" Maedhros storms into the room some time later, full of anger and frustration. "This is an outrage!" 

"It wouldn't be the first." I yawn. 

He sweeps his left hand cross the room, gesturing to the surrounding land. "They are nowhere to be found, Maglor, nowhere! What have you done?"

I smile. "The first right thing in an Age. I aim to make a new habit of this, dear brother. You should try it for yourself sometime; it is quite endearing." 

"Maglor." With forced calm, Maedhros speaks to me slowly, as if I can no longer understand regular speech, "The border sentries said it has been hours since they left, with your leave, I might add. And. They. Are. Gone." 

"That. Is. The. Idea." 

Maedhros heaves deep breaths to calm himself now. Eventually his face falls into concerned confusion, and his tone is a plead, "After all you did for them, Maglor, and I know you tried so very hard; why? Why did you release them now?" He raises his hand for me to take, "I thought you loved them..." 

"Brother..." I leave his hand where it hovers between us, "It is because I came to love them so much that I let them go." 

Maedhros lets fall his hand, and again his expression goes hard. "We need them, Maglor. I sense dark times ahead, and they would be invaluable in the case of a war." Even firmer are his words as he repeats, "We need them." 

"Gil-galad may have been discouraged from battle with us, had we held as prisoners Earendil's only sons," I say thoughtfully, "but mayhap we have an equal advantage with which to abate the young King's wrath, for having spared and released his own natural heirs." 

"Perhaps and perhaps not." Maedhros regards me sternly, "And if those two Peredhil whom you love so much should march against us eventually, beside their King, grown mighty and terrible over long years... what then?" 

I think on it. An image of them comes to me, grown tall and hale, their matching faces noble and no longer boyish, marching proudly at the behest of their beloved King... and I smile. "...'Twould be a good day to die," I laugh. 

With an aggravated growl Maedhros leaves me. 

Alone. 

  
  
  


*****Continued in _'Picking up the Pieces'_, by**_ AfterEver@aol.com_***

  


Author's Note:  
I'd like to extend my sincere appreciation and thanks to Lyllyn, who beta-read this story in its earliest form, and several sections of its rewrite. Besides being an admirable beta, she's also quite a talented author, who doesn't write nearly enough of her own muses.   
Lyllyn, if U R reeding this, U R 2 kewl & i wish U wud rite moor. ;-b 

  



End file.
